:  NINTH  MAN 


MARY  H  EATON :  VORSE 


THE    NINTH    MAN 

By  Mary   Heaton   Vorse 


.  OF 


"ONE-NINTH  OF  YOU  ARE  TO  DIE!"  WAS  ECHOED  TO  us  LIKE  A 

TOLLING    BELL 


THE 
NINTH    MAN 

A  Story 

By 
MARY  HEATON  VORSE 


With  Illustrations  by 
FRANK    CRAIG 


Publishers 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

MCMXX 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

Copyright,  1920,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  July.  1920 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"ONE-NINTH  OF  You  ABE  TO  DIE!"  WAS 

ECHOED  TO  Us  LIKE  A  TOLLING  BELL  Frontispiece 

IT  WAS  A  STRANGE  PROCESSION  THAT  CAME 

BEFORE  OUR  EYES Facing  p.  10 

OUR  BEAUTIFUL  AND  ARROGANT  LADY  SAT 

BROODING "  28 

"THERE  WAS  A  GIRL  HERE  ONCE— SOME 
POOR  RELATION  OF  COUNT  BARTOLOM- 
MEO'S"  .  .  ..."  32 


2133685 


THE    NINTH    MAN 


THE    NINTH    MAN 


CHAPTER  I 

IT  might  have  been  said  of  us  that  our 
city  was  the  iron  pot,  we  in  it  the  broth, 
and  the  edict  of  Egidio  Mazzaleone  the 
stick  with  which  to  stir  the  broth.  It  was 
a  fine,  big  stick  with  a  point  at  the  end  of 
it,  as  we  found  out,  though  at  first  sight  it 
had  a  harmless  look  beside  the  naked  sword 
which  was  what  we  had  expected.  As  the 
stick  stirred  and  the  broth  boiled  and 
bubbled  over  the  blue  fire  of  his  insolence, 
many  a  strange  thing  was  cast  to  the  top — 
things  good  and  things  bad — that  none 
had  guessed  were  simmering  and  cooking 
at  the  bottom  of  the  broth,  flavoring  the 
whole  of  it. 

I  shall  go  on  to  tell  you  of  the  wry  faces 
that  the  town  of  San  Moglio  made  as  it 
cooked  slowly  over  the  insolence  of  Egidio 
Mazzaleone.  I  have  found  out  that  it  is 
always  so  in  this  world.  You  may  call 
any  handful,  if  you  will,  a  city,  for  among 
them  you  will  have  in  little  the  picture  of 
i 


THE   NINTH  MAN 

the  state:  they  love  and  die,  bear  children, 
buy  and  sell,  and  strive  for  power,  and  the 
days  will  go  by  one  like  the  other  and  you 
may  think  that  you  know  each  of  your 
fellows  as  a  book;  then  singe  them  with  the 
fire  of  a  great  event  and,  behold,  your  town 
will  turn  on  you  an  unaccustomed  and 
terrifying  face. 

Myself,  I  cannot  even  now  distinguish 
the  events  as  they  came,  they  happened 
so  quickly,  one  on  top  of  the  other,  like 
a  dog  tumbling  down-stairs.  Whether  it 
was  his  head  or  his  tail  that  went  first  you 
would  be  at  a  loss  to  tell.  We  were  in  sore 
straits  in  the  city,  I  know  that.  There  was 
wildcat  fighting;  there  was  a  surrender 
to  a  greater  might  of  mind  and  body  than 
we  could  show — this  I  know,  too.  Then 
there  was  peace;  we  wondered  that  we 
were  not  burned  and  pillaged  like  the  cities 
that  had  fallen  before  us.  Before  he  en- 
tered the  gate  we  had  made  a  shrewd  fight 
of  it;  but  he  had  more  of  everything  than 
we — any  outsider  would  have  foretold  the 
end.  He  had  more  men;  and  though  it 
may  not  be  becoming  of  a  soldier  to  say 
it,  a  clerk  like  myself  may  perhaps  be  per- 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

mitted  to  tell  the  truth:  he  had  the  greater 
genius  for  fighting — not  more  bravery,  mind 
you,  but  as  much;  I  grant  you  that.  And, 
more,  he  had  a  brain  in  that  misshapen 
head  of  his. 

After  our  defeat  came  the  edict.  What 
it  meant  I  did  not  know,  except  that  it  was 
respite  from  death;  and  I  had  not  drawn 
long  breaths  enough  that  I  myself  was 
safe,  as  well  as  the  persons  of  those  I  loved, 
when  my  young  mistress  came  to  me. 

"They  say  that  I  and  all  of  the  house 
are  to  appear  in  the  public  square  and  walk 
in  person  past  Egidio  Mazzaleone." 

She  frowned  at  me  as  though  I  had  done 
this  thing. 

"Lady,"  I  made  haste  to  reply,  "I  know 
not." 

She  pressed  her  lips  together  as  if  she 
would  have  spoken  angrily  to  me,  but  she 
did  not,  and  went  to  the  window. 

"See,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  crowd  in 
the  street  that  wandered  aimlessly  up  and 
down,  on  their  faces  the  frozen  look  of 
those  who  still  stare  death  in  the  face.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  they  had  the  desolation 
of  driven  sheep  who  smell  the  slaughter- 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

pen  and  know  the  meaning  of  the  smoking, 
sick,  red  smell  of  it. 

Among  them  all  there  were  those  who 
walked  insolently  as  though  to  dare  Death, 
but  there  were  none  who  remained  uncon- 
scious of  his  shadow.  As  my  lady  bade 
me  look,  I  saw  one  who  walked  outside 
the  circle  of  this  walking  fear  like  a 
happy  child  in  a  field  of  lilies.  This  young 
man  belonged,  it  seemed  by  his  habit,  to 
some  religious  order.  To  us,  at  the  window 
above  this  restless  moving  people,  driven 
hither  and  thither  in  their  cold  suspense, 
he  seemed  like  a  dweller  from  some  other 
world  who  walked  outside  the  circle  of  our 
concern.  He  had  a  rough-hewn  and  clown- 
ish face,  and  his  eyes  had  the  gentle  and 
brutish  gaze  of  the  lads  who  tend  goats  on 
the  mountain,  but  the  high  serenity  that 
had  made  him  solitary  in  a  crowd  shone 
from  them. 

"Bring  him  to  me,"  said  my  lady,  "for 
I  will  learn  the  truth  from  him." 

I  gained  him  with  difficulty  through  the 
shifting  throngs,  and  without  surprise  he 
followed  me — so  unquestioningly  that  I 
thought  him  little  better  than  a  poor  witless 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

fellow,  until  I  saw  him  greet  my  lady,  and 
the  look  he  poured  on  her  was  as  kind  as 
water  on  a  parched  flower. 

"What  is  the  news?"  my  lady  asked. 
"Are  we  to  walk  before  Mazzaleone  like 
sheep?  Is  it  true?" 

"So  it  is  commanded  by  Mazzaleone," 
said  he,  and  his  voice  sounded  like  a  deep 
bell.  And  I  saw  that  this  thing  of  so  great 
importance  to  us,  and  so  great  a  hurt  to 
our  pride,  was  less  than  nothing  to  this 
strange  man. 

"Who  are  you?"  my  lady  asked  him. 

"The  least  of  all  things:  the  youngest  of 
the  Brothers  Minor,"  he  answered. 

We  had  heard  of  these  lay  preachers  from 
Assisi,  for  their  fame  had  spread  greatly  in 
those  days. 

"Do  you  preach  in  San  Moglio?" 

"I  am  not  worthy.  I  cannot  speak. 
But  as  I  go  to  and  fro  I  talk  to  children 
about  my  Master,"  said  he,  humbly.  "I 
wait  with  hope  and  dread  when  my  hour 
to  speak  shall  come  and  the  coal  of  speech 
shall  be  laid  on  my  lips." 

My  lady  considered  his  words  and  asked 
him  questions  concerning  Brother  Francis, 
2  5 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

and  as  he  answered  her  we  were  so  delivered 
from  our  shame  and  apprehension  that  it 
was  only  as  he  went  away  that  my  lady 
asked  again,  "When  shall  this  conquered 
and  unhappy  town  walk  past  its  conqueror?" 

"In  three  days,"  he  answered.  And  as 
he  went,  my  lord  Count  Bartolommeo 
Conti  came  clanking  in,  and  the  Brother 
Minor  greeted  him  as  he  had  my  lady,  to 
which  my  lord  made  no  answer  at  all.  And 
when  the  Brother  Minor  was  gone: 

"What  did  here  this  lout?"  asks  he. 

"That  is  Brother  Agnello — he  was  here 
at  my  request,"  my  lady  made  answer  in  her 
softest  tone  of  most  level  insolence,  and  she 
turned  and  watched  the  Brother  Minor  as 
he  wandered  aimless  and  unafraid  through 
the  shifting  panic. 


CHAPTER  II 

FOR  three  days  he  let  us  stew;  under 
the  mask  of  clemency,  and  of  giving 
us  time  to  learn  the  edict  for  which  dis- 
obedience was  the  pain  of  death,  Maz- 
zaleone  let  suspense  have  its  way  with  us. 
His  heralds  cried  the  edict  out  through  the 
town;  through  each  little  street  went  the 
command  that  on  the  third  day,  that  being 
a  Friday,  all  of  us,  noble  and  simple,  men 
and  women,  young  and  old,  should  walk 
before  the  loggia.  And  for  this  no  explana- 
tion was  given ;  the  bare  command  stripped 
down  to  its  bone,  and  nothing  more,  was  the 
edict  of  Egidio  Mazzaleone — and  it  seemed 
to  us  that  it  was  as  menacing  and  as  lean 
as  himself.  Behind  it  we  felt  that  terror 
was  lurking.  Some  said  he  would  butcher 
us  one  by  one;  others  said  that  our  leaders 
and  great  men  only  would  be  slaughtered 
before  our  eyes ;  and  again  there  were  those 
with  higher  imaginations  who  hinted  at 
torture  and  burnings.  That  it  meant  no 
good  to  us  none  of  us  doubted. 

Meantime  not  a  house  was  thrown  down 
nor  occupied  by  the  soldiers  of  Mazzaleone; 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

all  was  left  as  it  was  found.  The  men-at- 
arms  were  as  stern  and  yet  as  even  as  Maz- 
zaleone  himself.  But  there  they  were,  the 
iron  witnesses  of  our  defeat,  we  who  three 
times  had  been  taken  and  three  times  had 
shaken  off  the  yoke  of  Pisa — free  men — and 
had  more  than  once  entered,  victorious, 
through  the  gates  of  other  cities,  not  count- 
ing the  fortresses,  the  castelli,  and  in- 
trenched strongholds — fiefs  of  the  empire 
that  we  had  made  our  own,  one  after  an- 
other, forcing  their  nobles  to  become  citizens 
of  our  own  commune. 

Now,  while  Mazzaleone's  men  patrolled 
us,  we  went  about  our  business.  The  pot- 
houses were  overrun  and  there  was  much 
quiet  talking  among  the  nobles.  And,  al- 
though we  came  and  went  unmolested,  the 
people  were  not  allowed  to  congregate  in 
the  streets  or  the  piazza.  He  kept  moving 
those  who  would  stop  to  prattle,  did  Egidio 
Mazzaleone;  and  while  we  moved  about 
we  pondered  upon  the  meaning  of  his  edict 
until  the  hide  of  each  one  of  us  felt  an  un- 
comfortable itching,  as  though  it  already 
felt  the  prick  of  the  sharpened  sword. 

The  third  day  we  had  ceased  to  prattle 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

so  much;  each  man  stayed  more  at  home. 
The  women  wept  and  the  men  sat  with  their 
heads  in  their  hands.  A  cold  sort  of  fear 
plucked  at  the  entrails  of  us,  for  it  is  one 
thing  to  go  to  your  death  smoking  hot,  your 
sword  in  your  hand,  and  by  chance  have 
another  man's  sword  thrust  into  you  before 
you  can  at  him,  and  another  to  march  forth 
in  the  cold  morning  to  have  your  throat  slit. 

In  the  morning  of  The  Day  we  started 
forth  early.  I  and  a  few  of  the  other  young 
scribes  of  the  city  had  been  sent  for  by 
Mazzaleone,  and  stood  in  the  loggia  to 
count  the  townsmen  and  tell  their  names — 
for  what  purpose  I  did  not  then  know.  It 
was  a  strange  procession  that  came  before 
our  eyes — as  odd  a  procession  as  ever  any 
town  witnessed,  for  there  were  our  chief 
men  and  our  nobles  with  their  heads  up; 
there  were  their  ladies,  and  there  were  the 
poor  of  the  town.  Here  a  man  who  had 
missed  a  right  hand  for  theft,  and  there  an 
old  woman  hobbling  on  crutches,  and 
children  were  there.  • 

As  I  looked  I  saw  that,  spread  like  a 
mourning  veil  over  the  crowd,  were  those 
dressed  in  black,  and  I  saw  that  it  was  our 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

nobles  who  had  been  moved  to  do  this. 
Mazzaleone  sat  in  the  loggia,  his  captains 
about  him,  and  he  saw  it  and  smiled. 

"This  spectacle,"  I  heard  him  say,  "is 
more  diverting  and  instructive  than  I 
thought." 

And  the  captain  behind  him,  to  whom  he 
spoke,  answered: 

"Small  honor  it  seems  to  have  taken  such 
a  town." 

Indeed,  as  one  looked  down  upon  it  it 
seemed  that  there  were  more  old  hags  and 
women  and  children  and  pottering  old  men 
than  aught  else.  Very  different,  indeed, 
from  the  time  when  all  such  were  within- 
doors and  our  burghers  and  stout  men-at- 
arms  were  out  with  their  clanking  swords  by 
their  sides. 

So  San  Moglio  walked  along  three  abreast 
through  a  solid  line  of  Mazzaleone's  men. 
In  the  beginning,  as  they  came  close,  I  was 
told  to  count  upon  the  ninth,  and  as  the 
ninth  came,  small  black  ballots  were  given 
them,  which  they  were  told  to  keep.  All 
came  docilely.  Pride  made  them  come  so 
in  the  case  of  our  black-robed  nobles;  cold 

fear,  some  of  our  burghers. 
10 


IT    WAS    A    STRANGE    PROCESSION    THAT    CAME    BEFORE    OUR    EYES 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

Only  old  Count  Gervaise  Deverti  came 
protesting.  It  was  he  whom  it  had  taken 
the  commune  three  years  to  smoke  out  of  his 
perch  in  Santa  Croce,  and  during  that  time 
he  sold  his  right  in  his  castello  for  four  thou- 
sand florins  and  later  signed  papers  which 
were  in  my  master's  possession  and  which  I 
saw  with  my  own  eyes,  promising  that  he 
would  not  in  any  wise  help  his  faithful  vas- 
sals who  fought  for  him  three  long  years 
while  he  had  sold  and  resold  them.  When 
no  sign  was  left  of  Santa  Croce,  and  his  vas- 
sals came  to  live  in  the  commonwealth, 
always  he  gave  himself  great  airs  at  the 
resistance  which  he,  solitary,  had  made 
against  the  town.  With  the  bombast  of  his 
race  he  refused  to  go  forth  in  the  morning, 
whereupon  the  men  of  his  own  household 
trussed  him  up  like  an  old  turkey  and 
brought  him  up  squealing  and  gobbling. 

He  and  a  young  Count  Guido  Mazzafini 
were  all  that  made  a  disturbance  that  day. 
And  for  Guido  it  was  a  greater  tragedy. 
He  was  a  boy  of  sixteen,  and  his  two  broth- 
ers and  his  father  had  been  killed  in  the 
fray,  and  when  they  led  him  forth  he  made 

resistance  and  blubbered  with  rage,  and 
11 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

fought  with  the  guards  that  held  him.  At 
the  noise  of  him,  Mazzaleone  lifted  his  hand 
and  said  in  his  low  voice  that  had  the  sound 
of  a  flicker  of  flame  in  it  always : 

"Stop  the  noise  for  me." 

So  they  cut  his  throat,  and  the  blood 
spouted  up  like  that  of  a  stuck  pig.  And 
they  threw  his  body  aside  in  the  gutter. 
At  that,  though  the  house  of  Mazzafini  was 
not  beloved  in  the  city,  a  murmur  went 
through  the  crowd,  the  growl  of  a  checked 
tiger,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  short 
swords  of  Mazzaleone's  men  leaped  forth 
from  the  scabbards  and  I  could  see  them 
shining  like  the  white  hills  above  San  Moglio 
when  the  sunlight  strikes  them. 

At  the  glancing  forth  of  the  light  of  steel 
the  murmur  of  our  people  died  like  distant 
thunder.  All  was  tranquil  again  and  the 
march  went  on  as  before,  three  by  three,  and 
each  ninth  man  got  his  sinister  ballot  of 
black  ebony.  Then  the  heralds  in  the 
loggia  gave  tongue: 

"Thus  saith  the  most  clement  of  con- 
querors, Mazzaleone!  'San  Moglio  shall 
go  free  for  thirty  days'  time  while  he  takes 
his  much-needed  rest  among  those  who  $p 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

warmly  received  him.  Thirty  days  passed, 
he  will  depart  and  take  no  other  toll  of  blood 
than  this:  Each  ninth  man  shall  designate 
secretly  whom  he  wishes  put  to  death  in  the 
public  place.  Thus  shall  San  Moglio  judge 
San  Moglio.' " 

There  was  silence.  The  simple  and  noble 
of  the  town  stood  as  though  death  had 
struck  them  all.  The  heralds  cried  again — 
and  again  cried  into  the  silence  of  our 
amazement.  Then  again,  and  still  we  moved 
not,  we  spoke  not,  but  a  sigh  swept  us  like 
wind  in  the  olives.  And  there  was  no  sound 
but  the  heralds  accompanied  by  men-at- 
arms  making  their  way  out  to  the  four 
quarters  of  San  Moglio. 

Then  suddenly  a  gray -haired  hag,  who  to 
see  better  had  climbed  the  wrought-iron 
fountain  near  the  loggia,  raised  her  lean 
arms  above  her  head  and  laughed  and 
laughed  and  still  laughed.  Revenge  was  in 
her  laugh,  and  relief,  and  she  waved  her 
clenched  fists  in  air  and  laughed  her  hideous 
relief  and  her  hideous  revenge,  and  then  a 
very  pandemonium  of  joy  broke  from  that 
silent  crowd. 

Strangers  nrabjiaced.     The  spell  of  fear 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

was  broken,  so  they  shouted  and  howled  to- 
gether, except  certain  of  our  greatest,  who 
slunk  away  ashamed,  while  in  their  hearts 
they  echoed  the  words  I  heard  Mazzaleone 
speak  gently  to  one  of  his  captains : 

"The  love  of  life,  Hugolino,  is  a  foul 
thing." 


CHAPTER  III 

AS  I  would  have  gone,  my  duties  being 
^TlLover  and  my  lists  given  to  the  captain, 
I  heard  the  voice  of  Mazzaleone  as  though 
he  spoke  low  in  my  ear,  yet  he  was  many 
paces  behind  me,  say,  "Stay,  boy,"  and  I 
wheeled  as  though  the  voice  of  him  had  been 
a  power  that  turned  me  on  my  heels;  and 
I  hope  I  looked  at  him  squarely  enough 
while  he  told  me  I  was  to  go  forth  into  the 
city  and  bring  him  back  news  of  what  I  saw. 

"Be  eyes  for  me,"  said  he. 

He  sighed  deeply,  as  though  a  great  weak- 
ness were  upon  him,  and  I  with  a  fear  in  my 
heart  turned  and  left  him,  to  do  as  he  bade 
me — fear,  because  I  now  saw  the  game  of 
cat-and-mouse  which  he  was  playing  with 
us.  I  had  heard  of  other  conquerors  pos- 
sessing a  town;  but  he  possessed  us,  it 
seemed  to  me,  as  no  conqueror  had  possessed 
any.  Though  I  had  but  a  shadow  of  the 
subtlety  of  his  imagination,  I  hated  him 
that  he  should  sit  there  and  watch  us 
through  the  narrow,  bright  slits  of  his  eyes, 
and  rest  his  long,  tired  length  with  the 
spectacle  of  us. 

15 


<  THE  NINTH  MAN 

Yet  as  I  went  from  him,  love  struggled 
with  hate  in  my  heart,  and  both  of  them 
were  subject  to  admiration.  And  when 
later  his  page  boy,  Carlo,  killed  himself  be- 
cause of  more  than  a  passing  displeasure  of 
Mazzaleone,  I  did  not  wonder,  for  the  least 
sight  of  him  stirred  thus  powerfully  the 
hearts  of  those  who  came  near  him  in  one 
way  or  another,  as  he  had  stirred  the  town  of 
San  Moglio.  Even  as  he  possessed  the 
town  so  he  possessed  me.  I  became  a  part 
of  him — his  eyes.  That  is  why  certain 
scenes  are  burned  into  me  as  by  fire. 

There  are  times  yet  when  I  see  in  my 
sleep  the  narrow  uphill  streets  of  San  Mo- 
glio, red  and  black  with  the  flames  and  smoke 
of  torches,  the  town  rushing  through,  a  hun- 
gry flood  in  pursuit  of  hot  and  smoking  life 
after  its  cold  fear  of  death.  I  was  young. 
I  thought  of  and  had  loved  San  Moglio  as  I 
might  love  a  fair  and  warlike  and  austere 
woman,  and  I  had  found  that  the  soul  of 
Sam  Moglio  was  like  the  lean  hag  who  lusted 
for  life  and  for  revenge  even  from  the 
grave. 

Bands  of  men  and  boys — and  women, 
,ltoo — went  through  the  streets,  terrible  and 

16 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

revolting  in  their  rejoicings.  The  business 
of  living  and  dying  and  of  buying  and  selling 
for  a  moment  sank  to  unimportance. 

"We  are  to  live,"  San  Moglio  shouted, 
"therefore,  let  us  live."  And  they  lived  at 
their  hardest.  The  savage  rejoicing  of  the 
piazza  would  not  spend  itself,  and  finally  it 
was  the  sight  of  three  fat  women  teetering 
and  shrieking,  crying  and  dancing,  as 
though  they  were  girls,  around  a  May-pole, 
that  sickened  me.  I  went  out  up  to  the 
little  piazza  of  Ogni  Santi,  and  there  sat  by- 
the  fountain  a  man  whose  head  was  bowed 
on  his  hands,  and  as  I  came  nearer  I  saw 
that  it  was  the  Brother  Minor,  Agnello,  and 
I  saw  that  he  wept.  And  as  he  wept  he 
cried  aloud,  "The  Lord  take  from  me  this 
cup." 

Two  loutish  boys  were  throwing  mud  at 
him,  but  he  heeded  them  not;  and  they, 
still  tormenting  him,  cried,  "Why  do  you 

*i  99 

weepr 

Said  he,  his  hands  in  his  eyes,  "Because  I 
have  but  thirty  days  to  live  innocent,  and 
then,  by  taking  an  innocent  life  I  give  my 
innocence."  And  he  wept  again,  and  the 
boys  laughed  together,  and  one  cried: 

17 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

"Kill  yourself,  then!"  Then  they  ran 
off  after  their  sheep,  crying,  "Kill  yourself!" 

At  this  he  dropped  his  hands  from  his 
eyes,  and,  kneeling  upright,  he  raised  his 
face  up  to  heaven  and  gave  thanks  to  God 
that  from  the  mouths  of  children  he  had 
been  taught  how  to  avoid  the  sin  of  taking 
the  life  of  another. 

So  I  stayed  there  for  a  time  and  went 
back  into  the  town  as  though  refreshed  with 
water.  Though  he  had  not  seen  me  nor 
spoken  to  me,  I  was  glad  to  have  come  near 
him  in  his  simplicity,  for  San  Moglio  was 
keeping  step  to  some  mighty  and  inaudible 
music,  as  a  city  will  when  it  becomes  a  mob. 
The  very  children  ceased  their  play  and 
ran  through  its  streets,  small  shrieking 
furies,  more  terrible  than  the  wantoning 
girls,  their  grace  and  their  youth,  and  that 
they  knew  not  why  they  ran,  marking  the 
depth  of  us. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  in  all  this  great 
city,  but  for  my  lady,  I  saw  not  one  familiar 
face.  Can  the  whole  heart  and  soul  of  a 
town  be  like  a  changeling,  or  had  San  Mo- 
lio  worn  a  mask?  I  wondered.  Or  under 
the  torture  of  Mazzaleone's  suspense  had 

18 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

the  town  gone  mad?  Everywhere  I  saw 
change,  even  as  great  as  in  my  cousin 
Gemma,  a  meek  and  pious  girl.  A  long- 
eyed  girl  she  was,  downcast,  too  timid  to 
look  at  one  straight,  given  to  shy,  sidelong 
glances,  a  slim,  honey-colored  girl.  I  liked 
to  tease  her,  to  see  the  soft  pink  mount  in 
her  bashful  cheeks.  Now  as  I  passed  by 
her  house  I  saw  her  at  the  window,  herself, 
but  changed — soft  yet,  like  a  hazy  sky  in 
summer,  but  beckoning,  inviting,  and  glan- 
cing now  at  Guido  and  now  at  young  Leon- 
cavello,  playing  them  more  skilfully  with 
her  white  and  desirable  innocence  than  any 
courtezan,  while  my  aunt  watched  the  game. 

As  I  told  these  things  to  Mazzaleone  I 
felt  as  ashamed  as  one  who  sees  his  mother 
indecorous  in  some  public  place.  "Give 
them  life,"  said  he;  "they  snap  at  it  and 
gulp  it  down  like  a  hungry  dog;  and  since 
they  wish  amusement  they  shall  have  what 
they  wish.  Everything  they  wish  they  shall 
have — I  could  envy  them  their  gusto,"  he 
added. 

And  so  he  set  about  giving  a  festa  of 
great  magnificence,  and  asked  all  the  nobles 
within  the  town  of  San  Moglio;  and  he 

19 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

judged  them  rightly,  for  even  the  nobles,  in 
their  zest  for  life,  had  no  mind  to  show  spite 
to  Mazzaleone. 

For  the  common  people  there  was  dancing 
in  the  street,  and  wine  and  music  for  all 
who  wished.  And  so  it  was  that  the  whole 
town  fell  to  its  great,  lustful  rejoicing,  that 
they  were  to  live. 


CHAPTER  IV 

AND  I  will  wager  that  in  all  its  life  San 
.lA^Moglio  had  never  seen  gathered  in  the 
palace  of  the  Podesta  such  a  company;  for 
there  faction  met  faction  as  friends;  old 
hate  smiled  at  old  hate;  sworn  enemies  met 
for  the  first  time  without  the  drawing  of 
swords. 

Nor  could  Mazzaleone's  own  eyes  dis- 
tinguish where  a  feud  lay;  one  would  have 
supposed  that  each  felt  a  dear  joy  in  thus 
seeing  close  at  hand  his  own  enemy.  I  saw 
Beatrice  degli  Oddi  talking  with  her  broth- 
ers, though  all  San  Moglio  knew  that  they 
had  sworn  to  tear  her  in  pieces  when  that 
happy  hour  came  that  they  might  lay  their 
hands  upon  her.  And  she  talked  with  them 
as  though  they  had  never  been  parted;  as 
though  they  had  not  sworn  her  death  so 
bitterly  that  she  had  not  left  the  palace  of 
Ugo  da  Sala  since  he  took  her  there  from  her 
father's  house,  Da  Sala's  men  killing  her 
kinsman  as  he  lifted  her  over  the  threshold. 

I  stood  near  Count  Bartolommeo,  and 
heard  him  say  to  my  lady,  "There  is  the 
making  of  a  rare  fight  below,"  for  in  the 
3  21 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

courtyard,  where  the  vassals  of  the  rival 
houses  met  face  to  face,  there  was  no  smooth 
talking,  and  a  menacing  growl  arose  from  it 
through  the  corridors  and  up  the  hallways. 
I  had  seen  the  retainers  of  Malatesta  da 
Mogliano  glommering  at  those  of  Casa- 
matto,  and  the  men  of  Cola  degli  Oddi  itch 
for  the  throats  of  those  of  Da  Sala.  The 
halberdiers  of  Mazzaleone  formed  an  iron 
bar,  behind  which  the  men  could  only  show 
their  teeth  at  one  another.  As  my  lord 
spoke  his  dearest  enemy,  Carlo  Graziani 
passed,  and  he  and  my  lord  saluted  each 
other,  Graziani  with  the  gravity  of  his  dis- 
gruntlement.  In  times  of  peace  a  month 
was  barren  when  there  were  no  broken  skulls 
given  and  taken  between  our  house  and  that 
of  Graziani,  nor  had  these  men  met  in  many 
years,  save  when  the  common  cause  of  San 
Moglio  called  them  together.  I  could  see  a 
flame  of  interest  in  my  lord's  face,  for  it 
seemed  to  pique  his  bold  humor. 

Then  all  at  once  his  face  darkened,  and 
my  gaze  followed  his  and  fell  on  my  lady 
talking  with  Mazzaleone.  They  conversed 
together  as  old  friends.  At  this  sight  the 
heads  of  the  company  bent  toward  them  like 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

grain  in  the  wind,  for  my  lady  was  not  of 
San  Moglio.  A  peace  offering  of  Barga  to 
us,  the  living  symbol  of  Barga 's  good  faith, 
she  had  come  here  a  young  bride,  a  lovely 
white  thing,  silent  and  proud,  and  as  Count 
Bartolommeo  had  warmed  her  in  the  fire  of 
his  love  she  had  warmed  toward  San  Moglio. 

None  of  our  household  knew  what  had 
changed  her  from  fire  to  ice  toward  him. 
But  changed  she  was,  and  the  city  knew  it; 
and  since  then  it  seemed  that  her  heart  was 
ever  tugging  and  straining  up  toward  the 
Bargese  heights.  And  who  knew  what  her 
friendship  with  Mazzaleone  might  portend 
for  San  Moglio? 

She  walked  slowly  around  the  assembly, 
flashing  her  laughter  here  and  there,  at  her 
ease  with  Mazzaleone.  Before  Count  Bar- 
tolommeo she  paused,  and  I  of  many  heard 
her  say: 

"I  knew  him  when  I  was  but  a  little 
maid  ...  in  my  father's  house — he  was  there 
with  a  broken  wrist.  I  called  him  *  the  lean 
man  Egidio,'  and  knew  no  other  name." 
And  Bartolommeo  joined  them  in  their 
walk,  he  also  at  his  ease  and  smiling. 

And  then  there  happened  a  strange  thing. 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

It  was  as  if  this  sight  had  been  some  unseen 
torch  and  had  set  to  flaming  the  smoldei  ing 
hates  and  feuds,  the  smothered  hatreds  of 
years;  and  now,  without  a  word  being 
spoken,  without  the  outward  suavity  of  the 
scene  being  changed,  this  fire  crackled  round 
through  the  assembly  as  fire  might  catch  a 
light  festooning  of  drapery.  With  hatred 
came  revenge.  The  thought  of  the  black 
ballot  and  its  use  stalked  exultant  through 
us.  Enforced  peace  was  upon  us,  and  with 
enforced  peace  a  handy,  silent  weapon  had 
Mazzaleone  given  to  San  Moglio. 

Down  in  the  courtyard  the  men  of  San 
Moglio  became  more  restless,  and  the  men 
of  Mazzaleone  more  alert,  and  as  I  went 
through  to  bid  our  torch-bearers  be  ready, 
I  saw  one  of  the  men  of  Casamatto  fling 
forth  his  arm,  and  in  his  hand  was  a  black 
ballot. 

"This,"  cried  he,  "for  Count  Malatesta 
and  his  house!" 


CHAPTER  V 

S  he  spoke  there  came  up  from  the  town 
. the  roar  of  a  brawling  mob.  Some 
were  killed  that  night.  .  .  .  All  night  the 
sound  came  to  me.  The  men  of  Mazza- 
leone  herded  home  the  fighting  factions  as 
day  broke.  By  the  next  day  the  fire  of 
revenge  I  had  seen  start  in  a  ballroom  had 
spread  itself  through  the  smallest  quarters 
of  the  town.  Each  man  saw  how  he  might 
be  revenged  upon  his  enemy.  There  were 
few  in  Moglio  who  might  not  profit  by  the 
death  of  some  one. 

Changed  was  the  temper  of  the  town. 
They  had  been  wallowing  in  life.  Now  from 
one  day  to  another  they  were  wallowing  in 
the  thought  of  death.  Eye  met  eye  ques- 
tioningly,  for  each  man  hugged  to  his  bosom 
the  thought  of  old  scores  long  due.  In  this 
temper  they  continued  their  rejoicing,  and 
that  pallid  specter,  assassination,  rejoiced 
with  them;  and  with  assassination  and  re- 
venge smirked  along  the  love  of  gain,  asking: 

"If  you  must  kill  your  man,  why  not  kill 
him  whose  death  will  be  most  to  your 
advantage?" 

25 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

And  in  this  day  and  the  days  which  fol- 
lowed I  had  heard  enough  of  such  rumors  to 
sicken  me,  until  revenge  for  injuries  to  wipe 
off  old  hate  seemed  to  me  a  clean  passion. 
Then  whisperings  in  corners  began,  while 
the  braggadocio  fellows  openly  showed  their 
black  ballots  and  talked  of  what  they  would 
do  with  them. 

The  people  became  quiet,  but  there  was  a 
tenseness  to  the  whole  town,  like  the  draw- 
ing of  a  bow  across  strings  taut  to  the  break- 
ing-point. As  the  fury  of  a  crowd  is  worse 
than  the  fury  of  one  man,  so  much  more  was 
San  Moglio  terrible,  the  whole  of  it  aquiver 
with  its  desirous  revenge,  men  and  women 
locking  within  themselves  some  secret  hate, 
until  the  sum  of  their  hates  made  a  whole  so 
dark  and  sinister  that  it  seemed  to  me  my 
fair  city  had  become  a  hell,  and  I  cried  out 
to  Mazzaleone: 

"What  have  you  done  to  us?" 

"I  only  set  the  men's  feet  keeping  step  to 
the  time  of  Death,"  said  he;  "the  tramping 
of  many  feet  to  one  rhythm,  or  the  beating 
of  many  hearts  to  one  love  or  one  hate,  is 
more  terrible  or  more  beautiful  than  any 
other  thing,  Matteo." 


CHAPTER  VI 

T)ONDERING  upon  the  changed  face  of 
1  the  town  and  upon  its  altered  and  so 
sinister  temper,  I  walked  slowly  through  the 
great  hall.  What  I  saw  there  was  nothing, 
and  yet  it  struck  a  chill  as  of  death  through 
me. 

My  lady  sat  by  the  window  with  the  sun 
shining  square  upon  her  loveliness  and  upon 
the  gold  of  her  hair;  but  she  was  sunk  in  so 
deep  thought  that  she  was  unconscious  of 
all  around,  as  unconscious  as  one  who 
sleeps.  As  though  she  knew  not  what  she 
did,  she  played  with  a  black  ebony  ballot 
as  though  it  had  been  a  jewel.  Her  eyes  did 
not  leave  it,  but  watched  it,  as  it  passed 
from  one  hand  to  the  other,  as  it  fell  from 
her  hand  to  the  palm  outstretched  to  re- 
ceive it. 

Across  the  room  sat  my  master,  Count 
Bartolommeo  Conti,  and  fastened  upon  her 
a  look  of  inconceivable  malignity.  He  also 
watched  the  ballot,  and  he  knew  and  I  knew 
that  my  lady  was  not  conscious  of  him  nor 
of  me  nor  of  space,  nor  of  aught  in  all  the 
world  but  that  she  held  death  in  her  hand, 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

and  she  was  well  pleased  that  she  held  death 
in  her  hand. 

I  had  come  into  the  hall  with  sedate  and 
slow  step,  thinking  to  find  no  one  there. 
And  slowly  I  traversed  its  long  length,  but 
while  I  was  in  that  room  scarcely  did  my 
breath  come  to  me. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  in  crossing  that 
silent  room  I  lived  more  than  the  span  of 
years  that  I  had  reached,  and  I  pushed 
through  the  heavy  door;  and  although  I 
walked  so  slowly,  as  though  absorbed  in  my 
own  thoughts,  panic  was  at  my  heels.  I 
wanted  to  run  from  this  sight:  my  master 
standing  there  in  the  insolent  pride  of  his 
strength,  watching  my  lady,  who  played  so 
lovingly  with  the  thought  of  death  that  she 
forgot  life.  As  I  got  through  the  door  it  was 
as  though  I  ran  into  the  arms  of  my  own 
chattering  fright.  In  the  corridor  without 
was  Father  Giorgio. 

"Have  you  seen,  Matteo?  Have  you 
seen?"  he  cried  at  me.  His  fat  cheeks  were 
limp  and  gray,  and  it  was  the  first  time  I 
had  seen  he  was  old. 

"Oh,  my  poor  Bartolommeo !"  he  cried. 
"My  poor  lady!  Have  you  suffered  as 


OUR  BEAUTIFUL  AND  ARROGANT  LADY  SAT  BROODING 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

much  as  that?  But  this  can't  be!  This 
can't  be!"  and  he  shoved  out  his  two  fat 
hands  in  front  of  him  as  if  shoving  some- 
thing away  from  him,  and  then,  half  talking 
to  himself  and  half  to  me:  "Was  it  not 
enough  that  I  should  see  the  soul  of  her 
frozen  in  a  night,  and  see  the  softness  of  her 
wither?  And  I  must,  too,  see  this?  My 
poor  Bartolommeo !  A  hard  man  he  is  and 
a  strong  man,  but  before  God  I  swear  he  is 
not  bad.  It  was  to  him  only  as  if  he  had 
killed  a  whining  dog.  The  black  night's 
work  it  was.  The  black  night's  sowing! 
But  not  this  harvest!  You  see,  Matteo, 
she  must  not  do  this!" 

In  the  hardness  of  my  youth  there  was 
that  in  his  complete  discomposure  that 
disgusted  me.  I  plucked  him  by  the  sleeve 
and  said  to  him  in  a  tone  of  authority  un- 
becoming in  me  to  use  to  a  priest  of  God: 
"Come,  Father,  who  can  tell  who  listens 
here?" 

I  led  him  down  the  long,  deep  flights  of 
stairs  and  along  the  corridors  to  his  own 
room,  wondering  into  what  hell  I  had  now 
stepped,  and  frightened  that  life  in  my  own 
house,  where  I  served  those  whom  I  loved. 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

should  turn  so  ghastly  a  face  upon  me.  I 
had  often  talked  in  the  garden  with  Simon- 
etta,  my  lady's  tiring-girl,  concerning  my 
lord  and  my  lady.  We  knew  that  my  lady 
gave  to  my  lord  a  cold,  unvarying,  grave 
courtesy.  We  called  her  among  ourselves 
the  most  arrogant  lady  in  the  land,  for  we 
had  both  seen  that  she  had  the  highest  of 
arrogance,  that  which  gives  to  all  and  asks 
from  none.  Pity  she  gave,  and  love  and 
tenderness  and  kindness,  to  all  who  needed 
it.  She  asked  nothing  in  return,  and  held 
herself  as  one  who  needs  nothing;  yet  we, 
who  lived  so  close  to  her,  suspected  her  of  a 
soft,  tender  heart,  needing  all  those  things 
and  receiving  none  of  them.  We  remem- 
bered, too,  a  time  when  she  gave  more  to  my 
lord  than  courtesy,  and  when  he  gave  less 
than  the  jealous  love  which  he  now  gave 
her,  for  he  could  not  let  her  be,  coming  near 
her  as  though  to  bruise  himself  against  her 
calm,  as  though  he  would  hold  her  soul  as 
close  in  his  hand  as  he  did  her  body,  and 
with  a  fury  that  this  forever  escaped  him. 
We  knew  that  her  gaiety  dropped  like  a 
flag  of  mourning  when  he  came  near  her; 
and  it  was  this  flame  of  life  that  burned  so 


THE   NINTH  MAN 

headily  within  her  that  made  her  beloved 
by  all,  this  and  her  joy  in  play,  for  she 
played  as  eagerly  as  children  play,  some- 
times witli  a  child's  serious  eyes  and  some- 
times with  a  child's  laughter. 

When  her  gaiety  was  at  its  height  she 
seemed  like  some  wild  thing,  and  those  who 
beheld  it  must  needs  run  after  it.  It  was 
like  a  flashing  and  scarlet  thing.  None  of 
this,  nor  tenderness,  was  for  my  lord. 
This  change,  so  Simonetta  said,  had  come 
from  one  day  to  another. 

All  these  things  came  tumbling  through 
my  mind  as  I  traversed  the  corridors  with 
Father  Giorgio,  he  shaking  as  with  the  ague. 
As  he  got  in  his  room  he  turned  to  me  and 
said:  "She  has  drunken  too  deeply  of  the 
loathing  horror  of  life.  This  loathing  has 
shaped  her  into  a  frightful,  tortured  thing, 
and  there  is  no  forgetting  for  her.  I  know 
the  very  night  when  the  flesh  of  her  became 
so  degraded  in  her  sight  that  she  would 
have  rejoiced  in  a  purifying  fire  that  merci- 
fully could  have  burned  it  from  her.  But 
he  did  what  he  did  in  anger." 

He  stopped,  and  then  as  though  he  must 
tell,  to  relieve  his  mind  of  some  intolerable 

31 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

burden,  said,  "There  was  a  girl  here  once — 
some  poor  and  distant  relation  of  Count 
Bartolommeo's.  You  knew  her." 

I  nodded.  She  had  been  a  soft  thing — 
too  soft  for  my  taste — with  brown  eyes  like 
a  dog's.  And  one  day  she  went  away  and 
came  back  no  more,  and  there  had  been 
some  gossip,  and  that  was  all. 

"Some  months  after  the  girl  had  gone  I 
sat  one  night  in  my  room,"  said  he,  "and 
with  me  Bartolommeo.  I  heard  a  whim- 
pering as  of  a  scared  animal,  and  the 
curtain  was  held  aside,  and  there  stood 
my  lady,  and  she  pushed  the  girl  in 
ahead  of  her;  the  girl  was  huddled  under 
a  cloak. 

"'And  what  do  you  here?'  he  cried. 
'What  do  you  want?' 

"'You,  my  lord,'  said  my  lady,  looking 
at  him  straight.  And  the  girl  bowed  her 
head. 

"The  black  fury  of  the  Contis,  which  kills 
what  comes  in  their  way,  came  over  him. 

"I  told  you  to  begone,*  said  he,  'and  to 
trouble  me  no  more.  Have  you  come  whim- 
pering back  to  show  your  shame?' 

'"Your  shame  and  hers,  my  lord,'  said 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

my  lady.  'Where  will  you  have  her  hide 
her  shame?' 

"'Where  it  will  trouble  her  no  more/ 
cried  my  lord  through  his  blackness,  and  he 
pointed  to  that  doorway." 

I  looked  where  Father  Giorgio  pointed, 
and  shivered,  for  our  town  is  built  on  a  hill, 
scrambling  to  its  summit  no  one  knows  how. 
A  mountain  stream  cleaves  the  town  in  two, 
cold  as  ice  in  midsummer.  The  garden  of 
the  Contis  sits  with  its  feet  in  the  water, 
while  that  door  leads  to  a  narrow  corridor 
and  the  corridor  to  a  bridge,  and  thence  is  a 
narrow  stretch  to  the  town.  Far  below  the 
bridge  runs  the  silent  stream,  and  many 
have  gone  through  that  door  who  have 
never  returned. 

"You  come  to  me  for  counsel,'  he  cried, 
'and  to  know  where  to  hide  your  shame. 
Now  hide  it  deep  and  hide  it  fast,'  and  he 
spoke  in  a  tone  that  no  man  can  resist.  He 
opened  the  door  and  bowed  low. 

"My  lady  stepped  up  to  him,  and,  'My 
lord,'  she  cried,  'my  lord!'  He  swept  her 
away  as  though  she  were  paper. 

'"Pass,  Madonna,'  said  he. 

"And  the  girl  with  the  cloak  around  her 

33 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

bigness  passed  out  before  him  and  stood  at 
the  door,  shivering.  Then  he  said: 

"  *  There  are  less  pleasant  ways  of  dying. 
Pass!' 

"She  went  out  into  the  darkness,  whis- 
pering, and  he  mocked  her  as  she  went,  and 
whimpered  after  her  and  closed  the  door. 
And  my  lady  said : 

"'You  have  rendered  a  great  service,  in 
that  you  have  made  my  greatest  grief  my 
greatest  joy,  my  lord.' 

'"And  what  is  this  joy?5  he  asked. 

"'  That  I  had  no  son,  my  lord.  In  times 
of  darkness  I  can  remember  that  and  my 
heart  can  become  glad  that  I  am  childless.' 

"'You  are  young,'  said  he,  'and  I  am 
still  your  loving  husband.  The  hour  is  very 
late.  Let  me  conduct  you  to  your  room.' 
So  he  went  with  her." 

Then  Father  Giorgio  dropped  into  a  chair 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"I  loved  him,"  he  said.  "I  raised  him 
from  a  little  boy — and  she  has  made  my 
heart  to  break  with  pity — and  she  has 
death  in  her  hands." 


CHAPTER  VII 

I  FELT  that  I  must  leave  the  house.  It 
was  noon.  San  Moglio  sat  at  meat,  but 
I  had  stomach  for  neither  meat  nor  drink 
this  day.  I  walked  up  the  hill  and  sought 
solitude  in  a  little-frequented  place  hardly 
larger  than  a  handkerchief  at  San  Moglio's 
summit.  In  the  shadow  of  a  church  portico 
sat  Brother  Agnello,  and  he  threw  crumbs 
to  the  birds.  My  heart  was  gladdened  that 
there  were  those  who  could  feed  birds  in  the 
sunshine.  I  sat  myself  beside  him,  and  a 
little  blond  child  came  up  and  leaned  herself 
against  his  knees  and  reached  up  shyly  for 
a  bit  of  bread.  And  some  other  children 
joined  us,  some  shyly,  some  boldly.  When 
all  the  bread  was  gone  but  the  last  bit, 
the  boldest  two  quarreled  for  it,  and  one 
snatched  it,  at  which  the  other  wept  and 
said: 

"I  shall  tell  my  big  brother  what  you 
have  done  to  me  and  he  will  kill  you  with  his 
black  ballot." 

"Ah,  but  my  father,"  said  the  other,  "will 
kill  him  first,  for  he,  too,  has  a  black 
ballot." 

35 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

"Nannetta  has  one  also,"  piped  one  of  the 
little  children. 

"And  who  will  Nannetta  kill?" 

And  here,  walking  with  importance,  came 
another  child  and  three  smaller  children 
following  her  at  a  distance,  and  those  about 
the  knees  of  Brother  Agnello  called  out, 
"And  who  will  you  kill,  Nannetta?" 

Then  she  says,  with  the  manners  of  an 
heiress:  "That  is  not  yet  decided.  My 
aunts  and  mother  talk  about  it  all  the  long 
day,  as  do  my  father  and  his  brothers, 
and  no  two  of  them  agree."  Her  pockets 
were  full  of  sweet  cakes,  and  these  she 
distributed. 

But  a  big,  quiet  boy,  who  had  borne  him- 
self like  a  man  among  his  inferiors,  spoke  up 
and  said,  "Nannetta  gives  herself  airs;  but 
there  are  other  children  who  have  the  bal- 
lot." And  he  pressed  his  lips  together  as 
one  who  would  say  no  more. 

"He  himself  has  it,"  cried  a  child,  and  he 
pointed  a  chubby  finger  at  his  brother. 
Julio  himself  has  it.  I  saw  him,  as  he 
thought  I  slept,  bring  it  from  between  his 
mattresses  and  look  at  it."  At  this  they 
crowded  about  Julio. 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

"And  what  will  you  do  with  it,  Julio? 
And  what  doth  thy  father  say?" 

"Hist!"  said  he.  "My  father  does  not 
know,  nor  my  mother.  I  shall  kill  my  mas- 
ter with  it,  and  then  I  shall  be  free.  More- 
over, those  children  who  now  use  their 
ballots  as  their  fathers  and  mothers  say 
are  fools,  for  they  must  undoubtedly 
some  day  work  and  be  bound  over  as  ap- 
prentices, and  they  had  better  kill  their 
masters." 

There  being  no  more  bread,  and  the  noon 
hour  being  past,  the  children  ran  away,  all 
but  the  little  blond  girl,  who  had  remained 
pressed  close  to  Brother  Agnello's  side. 
And  now  when  they  were  all  gone  she  lifted 
the  skirt  of  her  pinafore  and  groped  in  her 
pocket,  bringing  from  it  a  ballot  which  she 
mutely  showed  to  him;  and  he,  feeling  in 
his  scrip  brought  out  its  fellow,  and  the 
two  smiled  at  each  other  like  children  who 
compare  their  marbles. 

"No  one  knows,"  she  whispered. 

"She  lives  with  her  grandmother,"  Broth- 
er Agnello  then  said  to  me,  "and  the  old 
dame  is  deaf  and  blind  and  the  little  maid 
too  shy  to  talk  to  any." 

4  37 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

"And  what  shall  you  do  with  yours?"  he 
asked  her,  gently. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  know  not.  And 
you  with  yours?"  she  made  bold  to  answer. 

"With  mine  I  shall  kill  myself,"  said  he, 
in  his  simple  way,  "so  no  blood  shall  be 
upon  my  head." 

"Then  I,  too.  Then  I,  too!"  she  said, 
clapping  her  hands.  "I,  too,  will  kill  my- 
self like  you,  Agnello!" 

At  this  he  was  troubled.  Then  he  said: 
"Why,  no!  I  am  as  one  already  dead,  so 
do  you  cast  your  ballot  for  me,  and  you  shall 
live  and  not  one  more  be  killed  besides.  So 
you  shall  be  innocent." 

With  that  a  light  as  from  heaven  streamed 
over  his  face,  and  the  little  maid  clapped 
her  hands,  crying: 

"That  I  will  do!  That  I  will  do!"  and  glad 
enough  that  she  need  not  kill  herself.  But 
he  did  not  hear  her.  And  I  went  away, 
leaving  him  as  one  who  listens  to  the  voice 
of  God's  angels  speaking. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

FOR  a  time  it  seemed  as  though  the  lust 
for  revenge  held  sway  in  San  Moglio. 
None  thought  of  aught  but  killing,  from  our 
beautiful  and  arrogant  lady,  who  sat  brood- 
ing while  she  held  death  in  her  hand,  to  the 
very  children  who  prattled  in  the  street  con- 
cerning whom  they  would  kill. 

Then  came  the  thought  of  being  killed. 
It  came  silently,  like  a  frost  in  early  sum- 
mer. Death  was  still  the  thought  of  San 
Moglio,  but  each  man  now  feared  his  own. 
The  red  desire  of  killing  and  of  revenge 
turned  pale,  and  by  each  man's  hearthstone 
sat  a  cold  little  shadow  of  fear.  I  thanked 
God  I  had  made  no  man  my  enemy.  There 
were  those  who  had  tried  to  leave  the  city, 
but  had  been  turned  back  with  stern  menace 
by  Mazzaleone's  men,  and  we  knew  that 
those  who  were  caught  in  attempted  flight 
would  be  incontinently  killed.  The  fear 
that  sat  with  us  gave  bravery  to  some  timid 
ones,  and  these  the  men  caught,  and  such 
pieces  of  their  bodies  as  were  left  when  the 
soldiers  were  through  with  them  were 
burned  in  the  public  place. 

39 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

Under  the  stress  of  fear  many  an  odd 
marriage  took  place.  It  was  said  that  to 
save  her  father's  life  young  Concetta  da 
Moreale  was  married  to  Bernabo  de  Monte- 
marte  instead  of  to  Donati,  her  betrothed, 
and  that  the  Donati  had  sworn  vengeance 
on  Bernabo,  who  laughed  and  said  he  had 
not  long  to  live,  anyway,  and  he  and  his 
would  take  life  for  life. 

Many  an  old  debt  was  paid.  Enemies  of 
long  standing  embraced  and  swore  friend- 
ship, each  fearing  the  other,  since  no  one 
knew  in  whose  hands  death  lurked.  Simon, 
the  old  usurer  who  lived  next  me,  and  had 
a  face  like  a  scholar  and  talons  like  a  hawk, 
received  threatening  letters  every  day,  de- 
manding of  him  that  he  should  remit  this 
and  that  debt;  and  his  wife,  almost  as  great 
a  miser  as  himself,  would  come  daily  to  my 
mother  and  weep,  telling  how  that  as  yet 
he  had  not  remitted  one  stiver. 

I  had  heard  that  my  cousin  Gemma  was 
seen  of  an  evening  coming  out  from  the 
back  gate  of  the  Mancinis*  garden;  and 
stung  with  shame — for  all  knew  young  Man- 
cini,  his  beauty  and  his  profligacy — I  waited 
for  her  homecoming,  and  says  I: 

40 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

"What  now,  cousin?" 

And  she  looks  up  at  me  with  a  wan  smile. 
"Dying,  I  please  myself,  cousin." 

'"Dying'?"  says  I,  gaping  at  her. 

"Aye,"  says  she,  "for  my  two  gallants 
love  me  so  well  that  each  would  kill  me  for 
the  other's  spite,  and  now  they  have  so 
much  for  which  to  kill  me,  and  I  have  had 
my  heart's  desire." 

So  whether  in  my  mother's  house  or  the 
palace  of  the  Conti,  Death  brooded.  But 
his  darkness  was  blackest  at  the  palace. 
Mazzaleone's  long  shadow  was  ever  at  our 
door  and  the  whole  town  gaped  at  the  trio  of 
them — my  lady,  rosy  as  with  love,  between 
Mazzaleone,  lean  and  pale  as  a  drawn  sword, 
and  Count  Bartolommeo,  red  and  powerful 
in  his  lusty  joy  of  life.  The  town  talked 
openly  that  my  lady  would  kill  Bartolom- 
meo and  that  then  Mazzaleone  would  find  a 
bride,  but  none  doubted  that  Bartolom- 
meo's  heavy  fist  would  fall  first.  So  the 
shadow  of  death  distorted  the  faces  of  all 
dear  to  me. 

On  my  dear  lady's  it  cast  a  softness  and 
joy  more  terrible  than  aught  else.  She 
grew  young  in  the  presence  of  Mazzaleone, 

41 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

and  when  she  sat  alone  she  seemed  as  one 
who  hugs  a  sweet  secret. 

It  was  in  that  day  that  I  shook  with  an 
ague  of  disgust  for  life,  and  I  wished  aloud  in 
my  ignorance  that  death  would  menace  me 
as  well;  and  then,  as  if  in  answer  to  my 
wish,  there  came  to  me  in  my  room  Simon- 
etta,  my  little  friend,  of  whom  I  had  less 
thought  of  sweethearting  than  had  she  been 
my  sister.  She  had  been  crying,  but  now 
her  eyes  were  clear. 

As  I  looked  at  her  she  cried:  "Oh,  Mat- 
teo,  I  have  had  to  come  to  you.  Before  you 
die,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you.  I 
have  always  loved  you,  Matteo." 

Had  not  dismay  given  me  thought,  I 
could  have  seen  how  vain  were  my  boasts  of 
a  love  of  death.  When  ever  did  a  young 
and  lovely  sweetheart  come  less  desired  to 
any  man?  I  had  not  sense  enough  left  to 
play  the  gallant. 

"Death?"  I  cried.  "And  why  death, 
Simonetta?" 

"Oh!"  she  answered,  wringing  her  hands, 
"it  is  the  shoemaker's  lame  son,  Oreste. 
He  hates  you,  Matteo!" 

A  weight  was  lifted  from  me.     I  hardly 

42 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

knew  the  lad.  Well  I  remembered  him 
sitting  all  day  before  the  cobbler's  door,  and 
sometimes  dragging  his  legs  painfully  be- 
hind him,  like  a  lame  dog.  So  why  should 
he  hate  me?  So  I  fell  to  comforting  Simon- 
etta,  and  found  the  comforting  of  her  sweet. 
But  the  thought  of  the  shoemaker's  son 
stayed  with  me  and  tormented  me  in  my 
sleep,  and  in  the  early  morning  I  made  my 
way  to  the  shop,  and  he  sat  in  his  little 
chair,  grinning  horribly. 

He  said:  "Ha!  you  have  come.  They 
brought  thee  word,  Matteo.  Now  it  is  my 
turn  to  love  life,  for  it  is  better  to  have 
crooked  legs  and  live  ones  than  straight  legs 
and  dead  ones.  Be  proud  of  your  straight 
legs  while  you  may,  Matteo."  And  he 
spoke  to  me  with  such  spite  and  such  venom 
that  it  distorted  the  face  of  him. 

"And  what  have  I  done  to  thee,  Oreste?" 
I  cried. 

"When  I  was  little  and  would  have 
played  with  you,  you  ran  away.  And  what 
have  you  done  to  me?"  says  he.  "Morning 
and  night  you  have  passed  me  by,  a  living 
reminder  of  what  I  was  and  what  you  were. 
Morning  and  night  you  have  made  my  lot 


THE   NINTH  MAN 

bitterer  to  me,  for  all  the  things  that  I  had 
not  you  had.  But  now  I  shall  soon  have 
that  which  you  have  not.  Morning  and 
night,  when  you  were  wont  to  pass  by  here, 
there  will  be  a  happy  and  rejoiceful  time  for 
me  instead  of  one  of  shame  and  envy." 

So  astounded  was  I,  I  had  no  word  for 
him,  for  I  had  never  thought  of  him.  I  re- 
membered, indeed,  that  when  I  was  a  lad  I 
had  plagued  him,  thoughtless,  as  had  the 
other  lads. 

"But  I  never  hurt  you,  Oreste,"  I  fal- 
tered. And  he  mocked  me. 

"The  serene  lord  has  forgotten  that  he 
took  from  me  the  only  sweet  thing  I  ever 
had.  When  we  were  lads,  Matteo,  I  had  a 
little  sweetheart.  When  the  others  ran 
away  and  would  not  play  with  me,  she  sat 
with  me.  When  they  mocked  me,  she  com- 
forted me.  Then  you  came  one  day  and 
taught  her  to  play  with  you,  and  to  laugh 
at  me  like  the  others.  Since  that  day  I 
have  known  the  worth  of  pity  and  have 
taken  none  of  it." 

Thus  he  drowned  me  with  the  pent-up 
venom  of  years.  And  I  had  gone  to  him  as- 
sured that  morning,  and  having  found  that 

44 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

I  had  a  sweetheart  instead  of  a  friend  in 
Simonetta,  and  feeling  no  little  pride  in  my- 
self, therefore,  I  now  slunk  away,  having 
received  a  death-sentence  from  a  mad  and 
relentless  judge. 

I  went  to  my  own  home,  and  I  had 
hardly  got  within  the  doors  when  Simon  the 
usurer's  wife  came  crying  and  shrieking  to 
us.  My  mother  and  I  ran  with  her,  not 
making  head  nor  tail  of  her  lamentations. 
She  kept  repeating  over  and  over,  "He  was 
so  afraid  of  death  he  has  killed  himself!" 
We  thought  her  gone  daft,  until  in  the  court- 
yard gate  we  came  upon  Simon  himself, 
swinging  where  he  had  hanged  himself. 
And  he  swung  to  and  fro  gently  in  the 
morning  breeze,  a  wagging  pendulum  of 
fear. 

I  was  now  no  more  a  young  philosopher 
with  the  keen  eyes  of  Mazzaleone.  No 
longer  did  I  move  upon  the  outside,  marvel- 
ing over  the  turpitude  of  men.  Now  I 
knew  why  Gemma  had  sought  her  secret  and 
shameful  love,  and  why  my  lady  sat  with 
her  black  ballot  in  her  hand,  and  why  Simon 
the  usurer  had  killed  himself,  for  there  were 
times  when  panic  was  in  my  breast  and  I 

45 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

felt  I  had  best  stick  my  own  knife  in  my 
breast  and  not  wait  for  who  knows  what 
death  at  the  hands  of  Mazzaleone.  I  knew 
why  men  and  women  sat  silent  and  brood- 
ing, for  I  sat  that  way  also.  I  pondered 
this  and  that  means  that  I  might  find  of 
ridding  myself  of  the  cobbler's  son.  So  I, 
together  with  the  rest  of  San  Moglio, 
brooded  with  fear  in  the  thoughts  of  death 
and  thoughts  of  murder.  And  the  cob- 
bler's son  read  my  thoughts,  for  he  stayed 
well  withindoors  and  grinned  at  me  as  I 
passed. 

For  comfort  I  sought  Brother  Agnello, 
and  found  him  preaching  to  some  gaping 
women  at  a  street  corner,  telling  them  that 
through  the  mouths  of  children  it  had  been 
revealed  to  him  that  it  was  God's  will  that 
he  should  take  the  blood  of  San  Moglio  on 
him,  but  his  words  were  to  me  like  the  bab- 
bling of  a  madman,  for  I  sat  now  in  the 
dolorous  heart  of  San  Moglio  and  I  knew 
that  its  heart  was  full  of  hate.  The  sight 
of  him  became  bitter  to  me,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  I  encountered  him  always  when  I  went 
abroad,  and  the  blond  child  with  him.  Now 
the  children  tormented  him,  now  men 

40 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

stopped  and  listened  to  him  for  a  moment 
and  passed  on,  laughing.  A  few  old  v/omen 
listened  to  him,  but  for  the  most  part  he 
waited  unnoticed  up  and  down  the  streets 
or  was  mocked  as  a  fool. 

My  lady  saw  him  from  her  window,  thus 
talking  at  a  street  corner. 

"What  does  the  Brother  Minor,  Mat- 
teo?"  says  she. 

For  some  time  past  she  had  been  light  of 
heart;  almost  had  she  the  gay  innocence  of 
a  child.  It  seemed  that  the  aching  wound 
of  her  spirit  had  found  some  ease. 

"He  preaches,"  I  made  reply,  "that  all  in 
San  Moglio  shall  cease  from  hating  and 
killing  and  shall  love  one  another."  I  spoke 
bitterly.  "He  begs  them  to  place  their  bal- 
lots of  death  upon  him,  as  he  is  already  as 
one  dead,  and  he  has  for  disciple  this  blond 
child  with  him." 

At  this  she  sighs.  "  Poor,  gentle  brother !" 
says  she.  "  Poor  gentle  flicker  of  mercy  and 
pity!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

ATOW  together  with  many  others  I  turned 
1\  myself  to  the  church,  to  try  there  to 
find  some  comfort;  and  on  the  next  Sunday 
I  and  all  our  household  were  at  mass,  and  in 
his  insolence  Count  Bartolommeo  had  asked 
Mazzaleone  to  attend  with  us,  for,  like  a 
man  who  cannot  leave  a  wound  alone,  but 
must  for  ever  be  picking  at  it,  he  seemed  to 
find  a  perverse  pleasure  in  throwing  my  lady 
and  our  town's  conqueror  together  and 
watching  the  joy  she  had  with  him.  Shy 
she  was  with  Mazzaleone,  and  sweetly  bold 
also,  as  though  she  had  gone  back  to  the 
days  of  her  little  childhood  when  she  had 
played  with  the  lean  man,  Egidio. 

Small  comfort  was  mass  to  me  this  day, 
and  small  comfort  the  preaching  afterwards 
for  there  was  in  it  the  fear  of  hell — as  though 
it  were  not  already  burned  into  the  heart  of 
each  one  of  us ! 

"One-ninth  of  you  are  to  die!'9  was  echoed 
to  us  like  a  tolling  bell;  more  sure  than  the 
pestilence,  more  sure  than  war.  One-ninth 
of  this  wicked  city  was  to  die,  was  the  com- 
fort that  the  priest  gave  us.  It  was  as 

48 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

though  death  brooded  in  a  dark  cloud  over 
that  still  and  frightened  congregation.  We 
were  to  die,  and  some  of  us  knew  at  whose 
hands,  and  some  did  not,  and  few  there  were 
who  did  not  fear  the  stab  in  the  dark. 

In  that  cathedral  we  all  drank  deep  of 
the  black  draught  of  terror,  and  the  fear  in 
one  man's  eyes  found  a  mirror  in  the  fear  in 
every  other  man's,  until  I  believe  that  as  we 
went  out  into  the  sunlight  many  and  many 
a  one  was  not  far  from  the  fear  that  killed 
Simon,  that  intolerable  fear  of  death  which 
prefers  death  to  the  fear  of  death.  I  know 
that  I  should  have  liked  to  run  from  the 
accursed  place,  for  so  was  the  cathedral  to 
me;  and  the  preaching  brother,  instead  of 
being  a  priest  of  God,  seemed  to  be  a  priest 
of  Terror  itself. 

As  we  walked  out  in  the  sunlight  we  saw 
coming  across  the  piazza  a  strange  proces- 
sion. At  the  head  was  Brother  Agnello  and 
the  little  maid  who  now  no  longer  quitted 
him.  There  was  a  witless  girl  following 
him,  with  her  baby  in  her  arms;  and  there, 
strangely  enough,  was  Tommaso,  an  ar- 
morer, a  man  of  some  substance  and  ac- 
credited of  hard,  good  sense;  and  behind 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

him  a  tall,  gangling  youth  of  good  family, 
but  much  shunned  by  his  mates  as  a  sense- 
less sort  of  dreamer,  one  Ercole  de  Fabriano. 
And  this  assembly  was  completed  by  a  little 
hobbling  company  of  age  and  misery.  Thus 
they  faltered  across  the  piazza,  a  thin, 
wavering  band  of  pity. 

My  lady,  whose  gladness  had  suffered  in 
the  cathedral,  as  must  needs  any  one  in  that 
terrible  place  of  terror,  said  to  Mazzaleone, 
"This  is  the  Brother  Minor  of  whom  I  told 
you,  who  wishes  to  take  our  sins  upon 
himself." 

Mazzaleone  beckoned  to  him,  and  his  men 
held  back  the  crowd  as  Brother  Agnello 
approached. 

"Tell  the  people  what  you  wish,"  says 
Mazzaleone  to  him  in  that  gentle  voice  of 
his  that  one  hears  from  so  far. 

Then  says  Tommaso,  with  heat,  "He  sees 
no  sense  in  your  useless  slaughter,  nor  do  I, 
and  takes  that  slaughter  on  himself;  and  I, 
as  a  sensible  man,  am  with  him." 

"And  are  you  the  only  man  of  sense," 
asked  Mazzaleone,  "in  all  San  Moglio?" 
And  one  would  have  sworn  his  voice  was  sad. 
"Now  speak,"  says  he.  Thus  was  the  coal 

60 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

of  speech  laid  upon  the  lips  of  Brother 
Agnello. 

So  there  he  faced  that  congregation  who, 
under  the  ban  of  death,  streamed  forth  from 
the  cathedral  and  from  hearing  the  word  of 
God  preached  to  them.  And  they  were  held 
back  by  Mazzaleone's  men. 

"Oh,  my  brothers!"  cried  he.  "Oh,  my 
brothers,  slay  not  one  another,  but  cast  your 
ballots  for  me,  unworthy,  and  deliver  your- 
selves from  sin  and  the  pain  of  death,  for  I 
am  as  one  dead." 

What  he  said  more  I  could  not  hear,  for  a 
murmur  went  through  the  company;  then 
they  barked  their  laughter  at  him  like 
hungry  wolves. 

Mazzaleone  raised  his  hand  and  the  men 
set  down  their  pikes  which  had  formed  a 
bar,  and  the  congregation  swarmed  forth, 
each  man  carrying  with  him  his  burden  of 
fear  and  hate,  and  the  little  company  of 
mercy  was  swallowed  up. 

Says  Mazzaleone,  "It  is  easy  to  lead  a 
company  to  victory  with  the  voice  alone,  but 
it  is  only  with  a  sword  one  may  stop  the  rout 
of  panic  or  an  army  when  it  loots  a  town." 

51 


CHAPTER  X 

4  S  I  have  shown,  each  man  within  our 
JL\  gates  brooded  on  death;  but  there  were 
larger  doings  afoot  than  such  small  killings 
as  glut  one  man's  hate  or  satisfy  one  man's 
desire  of  profit.  Higher  hates  than  these 
there  were,  and  greater  discomforts  than  an 
older  brother  sitting  in  the  place  that  a 
younger  coveted;  greater  riches  to  be 
snatched  than  that  of  a  relative  too  slow  in 
dying. 

The  Degli  Oddi  and  the  house  of  Da 
Sala  had  long  striven  for  power  one  with 
another,  and  at  varying  times  had  split  the 
city  in  two,  and  the  old  rivalry  had  been 
given  an  edge  of  hate  through  the  marriage 
of  Beatrice  degli  Oddi  to  Ugo  da  Sala,  and 
now  they  carried  on  a  novel  warfare.  The 
rival  houses  dreamed  wholesale  assassina- 
tion for  their  own  ends. 

There  began  through  the  town  a  buying 
up  of  the  black  vote  of  death.  This  I  knew 
because  the  Conti  supported  the  house  of 
Da  Sala,  and  day  by  day  they  met  to  discuss 
and  to  count  their  gains  and  whisper  among 
themselves  of  the  activity  of  their  enemy, 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

and  though  the  vote  was  to  be  given  se- 
cretly, they  devised  means  by  which  they 
might  keep  an  eye  upon  their  own  men 
whom  they  had  bought  and  mete  out  pun- 
ishment to  them  later,  or  beforehand  fill 
them  so  full  of  the  fear  of  some  less  easy 
death  that  they  might  be  sure  of  their 
word. 

Thus  they  trafficked  for  men's  lives  in 
men's  greed.  And  I,  as  scribe,  kept  the 
lists.  Much  talk  there  was  among  them  as 
to  what  black  hatred  could  have  possessed 
the  soul  of  the  cobbler's  lame  son,  that  his 
ballot  could  not  be  bought  from  him,  for 
ever  he  made  the  same  answer  to  Count 
Bartolommeo's  steward,  when  asked  his 
price: 

"Sound  legs,"  says  he;  "nothing  less!" 
and  laughs  at  himself. 

One  day  Ugo  da  Sala  asks,  "Are  all  ac- 
counted for  in  your  household?" 

"All  but  the  ballot  of  my  lady,"  Count 
Bartolommeo  makes  reply. 

"Ah!"  said  Count  Ugo  da  Sala,  "I  did  not 
know  of  hers.  And  her  disposition  of  it?" 

"I  have  my  private  use  for  it,"  replies  my 
lady,  and  her  voice  sounded  light  of  heart. 

5  53 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

And  at  this  my  hand  tightened  on  the  arms 
of  my  chair. 

Meantime  the  mind  of  our  Podesta,  Mes- 
ser  Gubbio  di  Grollo,  had  further  imagin- 
ings, and  he  called  together  a  great  conclave 
of  all  the  principal  men  and  nobles,  and  in 
this  assembly  sat  also  Mazzaleone  and  his 
captains.  He  was  a  spare  man,  Messer 
Gubbio,  with  the  long  face  of  a  horse,  and 
wind,  when  he  talked,  as  long  as  his  face; 
but  for  all  that  a  just  man  and  a  man  of 
force.  He  made  a  long  speech  which  went 
to  the  effect  that  too  long  had  fear  and 
hatred  rioted  among  us.  Since  one-ninth 
of  the  town  were  to  die,  we  should  turn  this 
fact  to  our  advantage,  as  a  wise  man  might 
turn  any  event  in  life,  however  grievous. 

"So,"  says  he,  "let  us  all  sacrifice  to  the 
common  good  our  factional  hates  and  our 
personal  revenge.  As  a  vigorous  tree  ac- 
quires vigor  by  pruning,  let  us  prune  the 
town  of  San  Moglio,  and  let  us  see  that  the 
ninth  that  are  to  die  shall  be  those  who  are 
not  beneficial  to  a  strong  state:  the  weak- 
lings, the  feeble-minded,  the  paupers,  and 
such  few  as  are  bitten  with  the  madness  of  a 
too  overweening  ambition." 

54 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

As  he  spoke  I  saw  that  a  great  mirth  had 
been  lighted  in  Mazzaleone,  and  that  the  so 
reasonable  speech  of  Messer  Gubbio  filled 
him  with  silent  laughter.  Messer  Gubbio 
went  on  to  counting  out  each  contrada  of 
the  city  that  lists  might  be  made  of  those 
who  have  the  ballot,  and  how  each  great 
house  and  each  man  of  importance  in  each 
contrada  should  possess  himself  of  the 
people's  confidence. 

"But,"  says  some  one,  "what  then  of  the 
ballots  of  the  poor  and  the  maimed  and  the 
unworthy  and  the  weaklings  themselves 
whose  pruning  shall  help  our  town?  What 
of  their  ballots?  Shall  weak  kill  weak?" 

"Oh,"  says  Messer  Gubbio,  "those  will 
be  easily  bought  up  for  gain."  And  all  in 
the  company  nodded  and  bowed  together 
as  gravely  and  discussed  as  gravely  as  the 
Podesta  himself. 

Only  Ludovico  da  Casamatto,  a  stern  old 
noble,  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  says  he: 
"Away  with  your  slaughter  of  your  towns- 
men! My  blood  be  on  my  own  head!" 

And  young  Juliano  di  Donati,  a  wild 
youth,  but  one  of  great  bravery  and  pride, 
"And  mine,  as  well!" 

65 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

"And  mine!"  cries  another,  a  cadet  of  the 
Moreale. 

And  Messer  Gubbio:  "Sirs!  Sirs!  Are 
not  your  lives  of  more  value  than  those  of 
a  witless  girl  or  a  blind  beggar?  Consider." 

Then  cries  out  the  angry  old  Lord  Ludo- 
vico,  "I  have  considered  for  the  hour  past, 
until  the  blood  of  innocents  and  the  unfor- 
tunates is  swilling  about  my  ankles." 

Now  a  dispute  arose  high  on  this  side  and 
that,  many  for  the  plan,  and  some  against  it. 
As  for  Mazzaleone,  he  took  his  own  terrible 
and  silent  joy  in  the  spectacle;  as  one  who 
bathes  upon  a  hot  day,  so  did  he  bathe  in 
the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  passions  of  men. 

And  in  the  midst  of  this  dispute  there 
came  the  shrill  noise  of  the  singing  of  chil- 
dren, and  from  the  back  of  the  hall  came 
down  the  Brother  Minor,  Agnello,  and  the 
blond  child  beside  him,  and  following  his 
band,  to  which  had  been  added  a  woman  or 
two  and  some  youths  and  maidens ;  and  the 
wavering  voices  of  the  old  men  and  the 
shrill  piping  of  the  children  cut  through  th^ 
talk  as  a  tiny  ray  of  light  the  black  darkness 
of  night.  Silence  followed  in  their  wake, 
and  all  stared  at  them  in  amazement. 

56 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

Then  says  Brother  Agnello  in  his  deep 
voice  like  a  sweet  bell,  "In  the  name  of 
Christ,  my  Master — Messer  Gubbio." 

"What  do  you  wish?"  says  the  Podesta. 

"The  gift  of  five  minutes,"  says  he,  and 
smiles  upon  us. 

Some  there  were  who  cried,  "Cast  him 
forth!" 

And  others,  "Let  him  speak." 

Old  Ludovico  Casamatto  cried  out  in  his 
hot,  angry  voice,  "  Let  him  speak,  say  I,  for 
he  asks  in  the  name  of  Christ,  and  I  have 
heard  enough  talk  in  the  name  of  the  devil 
these  days  past!" 

He  stood  before  them,  his  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  little  maid,  as  though  he 
were  bathed  in  a  pool  of  light,  as  though  love 
itself  shone  from  his  eyes. 

"O  men  of  San  Moglio,"  he  cried  out,  "I 
am  sent  here  that  I,  who  am  one  already 
dead,  may  take  away  from  you  your  fear. 
Cast  upon  me  the  bond  of  death,  for  who 
are  you  that  you  shall  judge  in  this  town 
what  ninth  are  worthy  to  live  and  which 
must  die?  For  who  may  judge  such  things 
but  God?" 

As  the  first  day  I  had  met  him  he  had 

57 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

taken  from  my  lady  and  myself  our  appre- 
hension and  left  us  with  peace,  so  it  seemed 
now  that  peace  streamed  from  him  in  a  great 
flood. 

Then  said  Ludovico  de  Casamatto: 
"Here,  brother,  take  mine,  then,  and  I  will 
go  with  you.  Who  follows  me?"  And 
many  there  were  who  joined  him,  and  a  hush 
fell  upon  all.  Agnello  stood  awhile  and  em- 
braced them  in  the  silence  of  his  regard,  and 
then  he  walked  out  in  silence  from  among 
them  into  the  waiting  crowd  of  poor  people 
and  of  halt  and  lame  who  had  heard  of  the 
beneficent  design  of  Messer  Gubbio  and  had 
come  to  learn  their  fate.  When  Brother 
Agnello  appeared,  and  after  him  the  little 
company  of  nobles,  there  arose  a  cry  from 
all  the  stricken  of  San  Moglio,  and  there 
were  there  the  sons  of  women  stricken  with 
palsy  and  the  children  of  blind  fathers,  and 
there  were  there  the  children  of  the  poor, 
and  they  took  Agnello  up  in  their  arms  and 
bore  him  along. 

And  the  noise  of  their  shouts  was  the 
first  glad  thing  we  had  heard  si  ace  the  fear 
of  death  had  been  over  us. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THEY  bore  him  along  triumphant  on 
their  shoulders,  scaling  the  steep  streets 
of  San  Moglio,  and  behind  him  hobbled  the 
maimed  and  the  very  poor,  and  the  very  old, 
and  the  mothers  of  feeble  children,  and  all 
those  innocents  upon  whom  great  fear  had 
been  cast  by  the  wise  plan  of  Gubbio  di 
Grollo.  And  there  came  not  a  few  of  the 
nobles  and  the  first  men  of  San  Moglio, 
some  sick  with  the  thought  of  killing,  and 
others  drawn  by  curiosity. 

They  bore  him  up  to  the  little  Piazza 
Ogni  Santi,  and  he  went  out  on  a  balcony 
above  a  doorway,  and  all  of  the  misery  of 
San  Moglio  was  packed  into  this  piazza, 
and  the  nobles  were  jostled  among  them, 
and  far  down  the  streets  came  others,  until 
every  street  that  led  away  was  packed  with 
the  people  of  San  Moglio. 

They  cried  out  to  him:  "Are  we  saved? 
Tell  us,  Agnello,  are  we  saved?" 

He  waited  until  it  was  quiet  through  all 
the  place,  and  then  said  he:  "And  who 
could  harm  you?  For  upon  me  be  your 
blood;  for  it  was  for  this  that  I  was  born." 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

And  the  words  that  he  spoke,  that  had 
once  seemed  to  me  the  ravings  of  a  madman, 
now  seemed  as  though  they  were  spoken  by 
the  voice  of  God.  I  felt,  when  I  heard  him 
speak,  as  if  I  had  been  dying  of  thirst  and 
he  gave  me  to  drink.  I  had  forgotten  what 
hope  was,  and  love,  and,  lo,  here  were  both. 
And  thus  he  delivered  me,  as  he  did  all 
those  wretched  ones  before  him  who  had 
had  to  suffer  not  only  the  pains  of  poverty 
and  of  their  feeble  bodies,  but  also,  under 
the  wise  plan  of  Messer  Gubbio,  the  fear  of 
death. 

Brother  Agnello  called  forth  from  all  of  us 
those  fair  things,  love  and  hope,  and  he 
linked  us  together  into  a  mighty  army  of 
love,  and  not  one  of  us  who  heard  him  could 
have  lifted  his  hand  to  kill  his  fellow-man. 
Hate  was  gone  from  among  us:  the  San 
Moglio  that  I  had  seen  turning  to  me  the 
face  of  one  who  lives  in  hell  was  now  full  of 
the  rejoicing  of  heaven,  and  we  who  heard 
him  speak  believed  that  for  this  end  was 
Brother  Agnello  born. 

Mighty  and  terrible  is  the  tramping  of  an 
angry  crowd,  and  red  with  lust  a  city  drunk 
with  the  love  of  life,  and  worse  a  city  that 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

plays  with  the  thought  of  death  and  re- 
joices at  revenge,  and  terrible  a  city  whose 
face  is  gray  with  fear.  It  seems  as  if  no 
force  there  be  on  earth  great  enough  to  over- 
come such  things;  and,  lo,  the  voice  of  one 
man — unfriended,  unhelped,  with  no  other 
weapon  but  the  love  in  his  heart — had  been 
stronger  than  all  other  things.  I  joined  the 
crowd  that  went  rejoicing  to  their  homes, 
transformed  from  the  children  of  fear  and 
hate  to  the  children  of  love  and  pity.  But 
as  I  went  past  the  cobbler's  shop,  the  cob- 
bler's lame  son  sat  and  grinned  his  hate  at 
me,  and  as  I  went  into  the  great  hall  Mazza- 
leone  and  my  lady  sat  talking  in  low  tones 
by  the  window,  and  she  turned  away  a 
blushing  cheek  as  though  she  were  his  sweet- 
heart; and  Bartolommeo  in  his  lustful  pride 
stood  apart  and  talked  with  other  ladies, 
yet  his  eyes  rested  for  ever  on  the  two  by  the 
window. 


CHAPTER  XII 

AS  I  saw  these  sights  I  saw  that  we  were 
AJL  still  fast  in  the  mire  of  hate,  but  I  had 
seen  the  hearts  of  a  multitude  beating  in 
tune  to  love;  yes,  I  had  seen  hate  turned 
into  love.  Late  that  day  Mazzaleone,  as 
was  his  custom,  had  me  tell  him  the  things 
which  I  had  seen  in  the  city,  and  of  what 
had  happened  to  Brother  Agnello;  and  as  I 
told  him  my  heart  beat  high,  for  it  was  as 
though  I  had  seen  a  miracle  of  God  that  day. 

"And  so  you,  Matteo,"  says  he,  smiling 
his  wry  smile,  "believe  that  this  lay  preacher 
has  been  sent  to  take  the  sins  of  San  Moglio 
on  him  and  to  keep  the  people  from  glutting 
their  hates?" 

"Sir,"  said  I,  "none  could  hear  him  with- 
out that  belief ." 

He  looked  at  me  and  there  was  a  sort  of 
pity  in  his  gaze.  "Men,"  says  he,  "are 
evil  in  their  ways.  Lustful  and  revengeful, 
Matteo.  And  in  this  town  there  is  many  a 
deep-rooted  hate  and  many  an  old  revenge 
that  has  dragged  out  its  long  span  of  years. 
In  these  days  you  and  I,  Matteo,  have  seen 
liate  blossom  and  flower,  and  in  fair  gardens 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

have  we  seen  revenge  put  forth  its  dark  ond 
powerful  roots.  Can  the  few  soft  words  of 
a  preaching  boy  uproot  such  revenge  as  you 
and  I  have  seen?" 

"To  God  in  His  mercy  all  things  are  pos- 
sible," I  replied. 

"Amen,"  he  answers,  "but  where  do  you 
look  here  for  God?  Has  He  busied  Himself 
in  softening  the  heart  of  the  Da  Sala  for  the 
Degli  Oddi?  There  is  no  peace  for  that  old 
hate  this  side  of  death,  and  I  know  others 
more  relentless  than  this.  I  have  put  a  sure 
and  sharp  weapon  in  their  hands  and  the 
sight  of  it  has  made  them  all  come  yapping 
for  blood.  What  does  he  offer  them,  this 
poor  Brother  Agnello — poor  Brother  Lamb 
that  shall  so  slake  their  ancient  thirst  for 
blood?  Thirst  for  blood,  Matteo,  is  sated 
by  one  thing — red  blood  sates  it.  Are  Mes- 
ser  Gubbio  di  Grollo  and  his  friends  moved 
with  pity,  think  you,  as  they  sit  even  now, 
seeing  what  men  they  may  summon  to  do 
their  merciful  work;  and  what  men  had  he 
whose  hearts  chanted  love  and  forgiveness?" 

"They  were  the  poor,"  said  I,  "and 
women — and  some  nobles,  too,"  I  added, 
stoutly. 

63 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

"How  much  pity  would  they  have,  do 
you  think,  if  they  were  offered  riches,  as 
they  may  be,  any  one  of  them,  by  to-mor- 
row? They  are  the  weak  and  the  poor  who 
form  your  Army  of  Pity — a  little  band  that 
to-day  sings  hallelujah  to  God,  and  to- 
morrow will  sell  his  brother's  life  for  less 
than  twenty  pieces  of  copper.  Where  your 
town  breeds  one  Ludovico  Casamatto  it 
spawns  twenty  of  the  breed  of  Sala.  A 
knowledge  of  the  hearts  of  men  has  been  my 
business  these  many  years." 

"Hark,"  said  I,  for  far  off  they  were  sing- 
ing, and  this  time  the  piping  children  were 
drowned  by  full-voiced  singing  of  men  as  a 
great  procession  moved  along  the  street. 
Joy  and  light  walked  with  them.  Gladly 
would  I  have  joined  them. 

"There  are  many  who  are  not  there," 
said  Mazzaleone  in  his  low,  flickering  voice. 
"I  do  not  see  the  cobbler's  lame  son." 
Then  he  says,  after  a  pause,  "And  what 
night  shall  my  men  slit  his  throat  for  you, 
Matteo?" 

I  looked  at  him  without  answering. 

"And  did  you  think,"  says  he,  "that  I 
would  let  him  wreak  his  spite  upon  my 

64 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

friend?  It  would  be  a  great  pity  to  have  so 
merry  a  tongue  silenced  for  the  whim  of  a 
spiteful  cripple.  I  will  send  my  men  when 
you  wish — this  very  night,  perhaps.  For 
his  malicious  face  does  not  please  me  as  I 
go  to  and  fro.  What  say  you,  Matteo?" 

"I  say  I  cannot,  my  lord,"  I  answered  in 
a  low  voice.  It  was  as  though  some  one 
else  spoke  within  me,  for  God  knows  life 
would  have  been  sweet  to  me  without  that 
jeering  face  that  had  taught  me  to  know  the 
black  heart  of  San  Moglio. 

That  evening,  like  a  fool,  I  told  Simon- 
etta,  and  she  wept  in  my  arms,  crying  that 
I  did  not  love  her.  "I  would  kill  him," 
cried  she;  "I  would  stamp  on  him  as  I 
would  crush  a  spider,"  and  there  came  back 
to  me  Mazzaleone's  words: 

"And  were  you  to  find  mercy  in  the  hearts 
of  all  men,  Matteo,  yet  would  you  not  have 
softened  the  merciless  hearts  of  loving 
women." 

I  hungered  for  the  peace  and  rest  that 
death  of  the  cobbler's  son  would  give  me, 
and,  doing  so,  perceived  that  the  whole  city 
of  San  Moglio  was  a  battle-field  as  was  my 
own  heart;  that  each  soul  which  had  the 

65 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

power  of  life  and  death  must  fight  thus 
dolorously,  even  as  I  did.  I  felt  my  own 
weakness,  and  the  words  that  Mazzaleone 
had  spoken,  without  love  and  without  hate, 
from  the  depths  of  his  knowledge  of  the 
hearts  of  men,  echoed  themselves  in  me. 

As  he  had  said,  he  had  set  men's  feet 
keeping  step  to  the  tune  of  death,  and 
Brother  Agnello  had  cried  to  us  above  this 
march  of  death  until  all  the  heart  of  all  San 
Moglio  was  torn.  It  is  a  strange  thing  to 
see  a  town  having  to  fight  life  and  death 
within  itself.  The  company  of  pity  which 
never  wavered  were  happy,  and  those  who 
sought  death  always  were  happier  in  their 
own  way  than  those  who  wavered  and 
swayed,  as  must  I.  Many  a  man  I  saw, 
and  woman,  who  were  athirst  for  blood  as  a 
hungry  man  for  meat  at  one  moment,  and 
at  the  next  moment  put  from  them  all 
thought  of  revenge  and  all  thought  of  death, 
and  then  must  go  a-licking  their  chops  again 
at  the  sweet  thought  of  death. 

When  such  battles  fight  themselves  out 
in  the  silence  of  a  man's  soul  it  is  bad 
enough  for  him,  but  when  he  feels  his  fel- 
lows fighting  it,  when  the  air  is  full  of  it  and 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

the  town  heavy  with  it;  when  the  sweet 
faces  of  girls  show  its  conflicts  and  the  desire 
to  kill  comes  into  the  placid  eyes  of  mothers 
of  children,  then  is  one's  own  torment  made 
tenfold. 

When  Mazzaleone  asked  me,  "And  what 
do  you  think  of  it,  boy?"  I  replied  to  him  in 
my  agony: 

"I  think,  sir,  that  the  taking  of  no  city 
could  have  caused  you  more  pleasure." 

"I  have  seen  a  gallant  fight,"  says  he, 
"and  a  man  lead  a  forlorn  hope." 

"Then  let  him  win,"  I  cried. 

"Am  I  fate  or  God,"  said  Mazzaleone, 
"to  meddle  with  this  vast  spectacle?  You 
do  me  too  much  credit.  I  am  only  one  who 
sits  watching  by  the  wayside  without 
meddling." 

So  the  battle  raged  in  me  as  it  did  through 
the  city  streets  and  in  the  houses  and 
palaces,  till  the  town  was  sick  with  its  own 
doubts.  Even  among  the  houses  of  Da 
Sala  and  Degli  Oddi  had  the  voice  of 
Brother  Agnello  penetrated. 

"I  had  thought  that  this  hate  was  made 
of  harder  stuff,"  said  Mazzaleone  to  me. 
"Love  is  a  terrible  force,  Matteo;  so  strong 

67 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

a  solvent  of  the  fierce  and  strong  things  of 
life  that  we  should  all  beware  of  it.  Few 
men  have  used  it  as  a  tool,  for  the  reason 
that  love  in  its  pureness  is  rarer  than  the 
rarest  jewels." 

"But  many  have  used  hate,"  I  told  him, 
"as  you  have  done.  And  what  of  us  whose 
hearts  must  die  on  the  battle-field  of  love 
and  hate?" 

So  for  that  whole  week  through  the  battle 
raged  in  me  as  it  did  through  the  city. 
Now  I  longed  for  the  death  of  the  cobbler's 
son,  and  now  the  thought  of  having  his 
throat  slit  in  the  dark  sickened  me.  When 
I  saw  Brother  Agnello  my  soul  was  bathed 
in  light,  and  when  I  went  into  the  shadowed 
house  of  the  Conti  it  was  as  though  the  soul 
of  me  was  bathed  in  blood,  for  Andrea  and 
Malatesta,  the  Count's  two  brothers,  were 
often  there,  holding  long  conversations  with 
Bartolommeo  about  what  none  doubted, 
for  in  the  pot-house  and  in  the  courtyards 
of  the  palaces,  and  in  the  palaces  themselves, 
there  was  talk  enough.  All  knew  that  Maz- 
zaleone  was  with  us  as  if  there  was  his  ap- 
pointed place,  and  so  did  our  lady  receive 
him. 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

One  day  Simonetta  heard  Andrea  say  to 
our  count,  "How  now,  brother;  how  long 
shall  this  shame  persist,  and  when  shall  I 
rid  you  of  it?" 

"Wait,"  said  my  lord  count;  "there  is 
time  enough,  there  is  time  enough." 

"There's  never  time  enough,"  said  Mala- 
testa,  "for  a  woman  to  make  a  plaything  of 
the  honor  of  our  house." 

"Who  says  that  any  has  done  this?"  says 
Count  Bartolommeo.  "Shall  I  be  coward 
enough  to  plunge  all  San  Moglio  in  blood 
because  of  tattling  tongues?" 

He  stood  there  before  them,  black  and 
powerful,  a  man  to  love,  Simonetta  reported 
him,  for  his  sure  courage  and  for  his  inso- 
lence. Menace  there  might  have  been  in 
him,  but  no  weakness  ever. 

Through  this  blackness  my  lady  walked 
as  though  she  saw  nothing  and  heard  noth- 
ing, until  that  I  could  have  cried  aloud  to 
her  to  beware  of  Bartolommeo  and  his  black 
brothers.  Until  each  night  as  she  went  to 
her  bed  I  thought  that  I  might  never  see  her 
again.  I  knew  that  Bartolommeo  was  fight- 
ing the  fight  as  to  whether  he  should  be 
killed  or  kill.  I  knew  that  he  was  looking 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

around  with  that  shrewd  mind  of  his  to  see 
what  road  there  was  to  keep  my  lady  and 
his  own  life.  The  days  dragged  by  slow  as 
the  coming  of  death,  yet  they  ran,  and  each 
day  Mazzaleone  said  to  me,  "The  days 
grow  short;  shall  it  be  to-night?" 

Each  time  I  shook  my  head.  So  for  a 
week  all  San  Moglio  fought;  now  its  men 
and  women  drew  themselves  together  in  a 
knot  of  venomous  hate,  and  again,  with 
hearts  calm  and  hate  dead  in  them,  listened 
to  Brother  Agnello,  and  none  might  tell 
who  would  gain  the  victory  until  but  two 
nights  and  one  day  were  left  us — and  Si- 
monetta  did  not  cease  to  cry. 

"Let  the  others  listen  to  Brother  Agnello, 
but  be  sure  that  the  cobbler's  son  will  not." 

So  at  last,  for  I  loved  life,  "He  shall  die," 
I  told  her. 

At  that  she  kissed  me  and  left  me,  and  I 
felt  I  had  betrayed  my  Master  and  that  the 
triumph  of  love  was  far  away;  and  I  wept. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

I  HAD  not  much  time  for  such  womanish 
moments.  Soon  Simonetta  returned  to 
me,  and  there  was  fear  in  her  face. 

"It  is  Mazzaleone's  bidding  that  you  and 
I  shall  come  to  the  foot  of  the  garden," 
said  she. 

In  our  house  that  evening  there  was  a 
great  company  assembled,  since  those  who 
live  under  such  a  shadow  as  we  do  not  love 
solitude.  When  we  gained  the  great  hall 
we  stood  aside  while  Mazzaleone  was  talking 
to  this  one  or  that  one.  Then  says  he  to 
my  lady: 

"The  night  is  warm.  Shall  we  walk  for  a 
while  in  the  garden?"  Together  they  walked 
forth  into  the  night.  After  a  moment,  as 
we  had  been  bidden,  we  followed  them. 
Our  garden  marches  down,  terrace  by  ter- 
race, to  the  river.  A  narrow  slit  it  is,  and 
full  of  solemn  cypresses,  and  at  this  season 
full  of  oleander  bloom.  It  seemed  to  me  as 
I  walked  past  their  ghostly  flowers  that  I 
had  never  heard  so  much  rustling  among 
the  leaves;  unrest  was  in  the  air,  and  fear. 
I  felt  that  there  was  some  hidden  menace 

71 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

about,  and  Simonetta  shivered  and  slid  her 
hand  into  mine.  Then  as  we  came  to  the 
foot  of  the  garden  where  the  high  wall  keeps 
out  the  river,  I  saw  that  the  wall  was  alive 
with  Mazzaleone's  men-at-arms,  and  that 
behind  each  cypress  stood  one  of  the  men  of 
the  Conti. 

For  a  moment  my  lady  stood  alone  by 
herself,  while  it  seemed  that  the  night 
waited,  panting;  the  moonlight  fell  upon 
her  and  I  marveled  that  any  woman  could 
look  as  sweet  as  she,  and  so  happy,  when  a 
sea  of  blood  was  lapping  at  her  very  feet. 
It  seemed  strange  that  anything  with  so  in- 
nocent a  look  could  live  at  the  core  of  so 
much  hate  and  so  much  conflicting  desire. 

So  for  a  second  it  seemed  that  this  night 
stood  quiet  to  watch  her,  as  did  the  men 
hiding  in  night's  darkness.  I  knew  that 
Mazzaleone's  men  waited  and  that  among 
the  cypress-trees  waited  the  men  of  our 
house,  all  with  their  eyes  upon  her. 

Then  from  behind  us  came  the  whispering 
sound  of  the  soft  drawing  of  swords,  and  I 
heard  the  voice  of  Mazzaleone  say: 

"Quick,  toward  the  wall!"  and  he  stood 
before  her  while  Bartolommeo  and  Andrea 

72 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

and  Malatesta  leaped  toward  her.  There 
was  the  sound  of  the  men  now  unleashed, 
then  her  dear  voice  from  the  midst  of  them : 

"Wait,  my  lords.  It  seems  that  here 
there  is  some  mistake.  And  have  you 
thought,  Egidio,  that  my  lord  Bartolommeo 
has  taught  me  to  trust  men  so  that  I  would 
go  with  you?  It  is  true,"  says  she,  "that  I 
have  been  nursing  to  myself  the  thought  of 
escape,  and  you  yourself,  Egidio,  had  given 
me  it.  And  I  thought  of  that  escape  in  my 
own  death,  and  for  a  while,  as  one  dying  may 
wish  to  drink  of  a  cool  cup  of  water,  I  have 
taken  pleasure  in  the  friend  of  my  childhood. 
For  I  loved  your  strength  and  I  loved  the 
subtlety  of  your  wit,  and  they  were  the 
fairest  things  I  had  ever  known.  But  in 
these  latter  days  I  have  seen  for  the  first 
time  a  strength  that  is  beyond  your  strength 
and  a  power  that  makes  naught  of  your 
subtlety.  To  this  higher  strength  and 
power  have  I  given  my  life.  And  now  I 
say  adieu  to  you,  Egidio,  and  to  you, 
Bartolommeo,  I  say  adieu." 

So  alone  she  walked  up  the  terraces  one 
by  one,  and  Mazzaleone's  men  vanished 
from  the  wall,  and  under  each  cypress-tree 

73 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

our  men  stood  silent.  Half-way  up  the  gar- 
den she  turned  to  a  little  door  which  led 
over  the  bridge,  and  by  the  door  stood  two 
of  those  whom  we  afterward  came  to  know 
as  the  Poor  Ladies  of  Santa  Clara,  and  she 
went  with  them.  From  the  other  side  of 
the  bridge  there  came  to  us  the  singing  of 
Brother  Agnello's  company  of  mercy. 

Thus  Mazzaleone  and  Bartolommeo  suf- 
fered her  to  go.  For  they  could  have 
stopped  her  no  more  than  death,  and  they 
could  follow  her  as  little  as  one  may  follow 
the  soul  when  it  flies  from  the  body.  And 
so  they  bowed  their  heads  as  before  death. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

I  COULD  not  sleep,  and  before  day  broke 
I  went  forth  into  the  silent  streets  and 
mounted  to  the  Piazza  Ogni  Santi  as  though 
in  search  of  Brother  Agnello,  for  my  soul 
thirsted  for  the  sight  of  him.  Though  it 
was  yet  dark,  I  found  him  kneeling  there, 
and  with  him  many  of  his  company  of 
mercy,  but  he  knelt  apart  as  one  praying  by 
himself,  so  I  knelt  there  among  the  others. 
And  in  the  dawning  light  I  saw  that  tears 
streamed  down  his  cheeks,  and  I  wondered 
if  he,  too,  doubted.  At  sunrise  he  went  into 
the  church  of  Ogni  Santi  and  confessed  his 
sins  and  prepared  as  for  death,  and  came 
forth  again,  and  again  knelt.  He  walked  as 
though  he  saw  no  one.  But  now  there  was 
a  great  peace  upon  his  face,  and  thus  all  day 
he  remained.  All  day  he  knelt  and  he  spoke 
not  one  word  nor  moved,  but  knelt  there  si- 
lently before  God,  and  silence  was  upon  the 
piazza  where  he  was.  The  crowd  that  came 
and  went  unceasing  moved  as  silently  as 
those  who  carry  the  dead.  And  the  silence 
of  the  piazza  gained  to  the  street,  and  from 
the  street  to  the  houses  and  the  palaces. 

75 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

There  was  over  San  Moglio  a  hush  as 
though  the  town  held  its  breath  in  silent 
prayer.  Yes,  there  was  throughout  that 
city  the  silence  of  those  who  pray  beside  the 
dead.  In  the  palace  of  the  Podesta  sat 
Mazzaleone,  his  head  sunk  in  his  hands,  and 
saw  no  one. 

As  noon  struck,  the  silence  of  San  Moglio 
was  broken  by  the  clanking  of  Mazzaleone's 
men  as  they  went  forth  into  the  great  piazza, 
and  there  they  built  a  scaffold  for  the  mor- 
row. The  noise  of  their  hammerings  echoed 
through  the  silent  town  through  the  hot 
hours  of  the  afternoon,  but  none  stopped  to 
watch  them,  and  few  there  were  in  the 
piazza  save  those  who  came  and  went, 
walking  as  on  some  urgent  business.  For 
all  knew  that  silent  above  the  town  in  the 
Piazza  Ogni  Santi  Brother  Agnello  sat  with 
God. 

The  noise  of  the  building  of  the  scaffold 
lasted  through  the  day,  and  dusk  came,  and 
yet  went  on  the  noise  of  building,  until  at 
last  it  stood  there  complete,  a  monstrous 
emblem  of  hate  and  the  lust  of  revenge. 

Brother  Agnello  sat  with  God  above  the 
town,  but  as  night  came  Hate  came  skulking 

76 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

forth.  As  the  city  had  been  quiet  through 
the  day,  so  it  was  restless  through  the  night, 
for  the  scaffold  and  the  darkness  between 
them  bred  strange  doubt  in  our  hearts. 
Dark  groups  of  people  moved  restless 
through  the  streets  up  to  the  Piazza,  Ogni 
Santi,  and  from  there  it  seemed  that  they 
were  sucked  down  to  the  great  piazza 
against  their  will.  Fear  moved  among  them 
in  the  darkness  of  the  night  and  whispered 
its  warnings  into  their  ears. 

That  quiet,  restless  ebb  and  flow  of  dark 
forms  through  dark  streets  gripped  at  my 
heart.  I  think  it  seemed  to  many,  as  it  did 
to  me,  that  Brother  Agnello  fought  alone 
against  the  devils  that  had  so  long  ruled  our 
hearts.  As  for  me,  I  fought  no  more;  I 
strove  no  more.  I  was  weary  with  the  fight, 
and  with  the  other  drifting  shadows  I 
drifted  to  the  Piazza  Ogni  Santi  and  back 
again  to  the  scaffold.  And  I  cared  nothing 
if  to-morrow  meant  life  or  death,  so  that  it 
brought  peace.  I  surrendered  my  spirit  to 
the  Brother  Minor  and  found  myself  praying 
as  if  to  a  saint,  "Save  us  if  you  can."  In 
that  night  I  ceased  to  be  myself  and  became 
a  part  of  the  sleepless  suspense  of  that  wak- 

77 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

ing  town  which  knew  not  if  to-morrow 
would  see  the  scaffold  an  altar  or  streaming 
with  blood.  In  the  darkest  hours  I  came 
on  a  lad  I  knew  blubbering  in  a  doorway. 
And  when  I  asked  him,  "Why  do  you  cry?" 
"I'm  afraid  of  the  devils,"  he  whimpered. 
"The  devils  run  through  the  streets,  Mat- 
teo.  The  devils  run  and  I  fear  them.  Stay 
with  me,  Matteo."  Many  there  were  who 
said  afterward  that  there  were  dark  shapes 
among  us  who  were  no  men  of  San  Moglio; 
dark  shapes  herding  us  back  for  ever  and  for 
ever  to  the  scaffold  in  the  piazza.  As  the 
lad  shook  with  fear  I  sat  down  beside  him, 
and  as  I  comforted  him  a  wan  peace  came 
over  me,  and  I  sat  there  as  San  Moglio 
whispered  to  itself  unceasing  while  it  waited 
sleepless  for  dawn,  as  though  all  San  Moglio 
were  but  one  person,  waiting  to  know  if  its 
soul  were  given  to  God  or  the  devil. 

The  lad  slept  a  little  on  my  shoulder, 
and  as  the  first  grayness  of  dawn  came  he 
awoke,  and  we  went  together  to  the  great 
piazza,  and  there  on  the  scaffold  we  saw 
standing  a  dark  figure.  I  knew  that  this 
was  Brother  Agnello.  The  piazza  was  full 
already  of  waiting  people  and  of  the  restless 

78 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

sound  of  their  muttering.  I  heard  those 
who  talked  of  devils  and  others  who  had 
heard  children  singing.  As  light  came  I  saw 
that  at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold  sat  three  of 
the  Poor  Ladies,  and  one  of  them  was  my 
own  lady,  and  leaning  against  her  was  the 
little  blond  child.  Around  about  were 
many  of  Brother  Agnello's  disciples  and 
many  of  the  company  of  mercy;  and  some 
were  so  weary  that  they  slept.  With  the 
growing  light  the  crowd  grew  until  the 
piazza  was  filled  with  the  people  of  San 
Moglio. 

The  gray  of  sleeplessness  and  fear  and 
doubt  was  in  their  faces,  and  they  all  looked 
up  to  Brother  Agnello  as  though  imploring 
peace  from  him.  Then  the  sun  came  and  I 
could  see  his  face.  He  looked  on  us  with  his 
gentle  gaze  and  with  such  love  as  a  mother 
who  comforts  her  sick  child  and  soothes  it 
to  rest.  So  he  stood  for  a  long  while,  and 
though  he  spoke  no  word  I  have  never  heard 
God's  Word  so  truly  preached. 

Then  beside  me  I  heard  a  low  sobbing,  as 
of  a  woman  who  mourns  the  death  of  a  dear 
son.  The  noise  of  her  sobbing  was  a  little 
noise,  but  one  that  was  born  in  the  very 

79 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

heart  of  grief.  I  heard  a  man's  voice  say, 
"Do  not  grieve,  mother,  since  it  was  for  this 
that  he  was  born."  I  turned  and  saw  the 
old  woman  who  had  first  laughed  her  joy 
and  revenge,  and  comforting  her  was  the 
cobbler's  lame  son. 

Many  there  were  who  wept,  and  this  low 
sound  so  filled  our  ears  that  when  the  trum- 
pets blared  forth  and  the  heralds  cried  that 
those  with  the  ballots  should  form  in  line, 
their  noise  came  to  me  as  afar  off,  as  a  sound 
without  meaning.  As  one  in  a  dream  I 
made  my  way  through  the  crowd  and  joined 
the  other  scribes  near  Mazzaleone  in  the 
loggia. 

He  sat  among  his  captains,  very  grave  and 
weary,  and  I  knew  he,  too,  had  kept  San 
Moglio's  vigil.  Not  once  did  his  eyes  leave 
the  Brother  Minor.  He  sat  there  as  one 
who  does  honor  to  a  power  mightier  than 
his  own. 

Now  all  was  silent.  No  one  moved,  no 
one  spoke.  And  then  the  silence  was  rent 
by  the  brazen  voices  of  the  trumpets  and 
by  the  heralds  crying  that  the  balloting 
should  begin. 

At  that  moment,  and  before  any  could 

£0 


THE  NINTH  MAN 

cast  a  ballot,  Brother  Agnello  took  a  short 
sword  from  the  soldier  who  stood  beside  him 
on  the  scaffold,  and  cried  out: 

"O  God!  accept  my  life  unworthy  for 
the  lives  of  these!" 

He  drove  the  sword  through  his  heart  and 
thus  he  died.  Then  from  all  that  great 
congregation  of  people  went  up  a  cry  to 
heaven,  and  all  sank  upon  their  knees,  while 
Mazzaleone  arose  and  said  to  me: 

"The  ballots  have  been  cast." 


THE    END 


I 

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